


Of Inquisitors And Stewing

by Llynnyia



Series: Skyhold's Larder [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Canon Universe, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Food Kink, Friends With Benefits, Inquisitor Tempest Cadash, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Child Caracter Death, Multi, Porn With Plot, Riding The Bull, Riding The Iron Bull, Romance, Shameless Smut, Tea vs. Coffee, Threesome - F/M/M, m/m - Freeform, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llynnyia/pseuds/Llynnyia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally this fanfiction was intended to be lighthearted smut to showcase Iron Bull’s and Dorian’s relationship and eventual threesome with a Dwarven, female Inquisitor. However my imagination has insisted that this become a long, drawn out, character history driven, emotionally potent, sometimes comical multi-chapter showcase of my talents. Good news, my skills as a writer have vastly improved and I found a love of editing other’s stories. The GREAT news is it’s still smutty and funny, when you are not wrapped up in fluffy feels or sobbing uncontrollably.<br/>Thanks to Ultrachicory and her angst and lore filled Solavellan mystery fic! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10923206/1/Wolf-Dreams-Halla-Wakes Thank you for pushing me out onto the web and teaching me to never give up even if the end is never in sight.<br/>For those interested in seeing my editing wrath that is for rent via PayPal, please read and enjoy her 100k fanfiction.<br/>Then visit me on Tumblr, AO3 Archive Of Our Own, under the pennames Llynnyia and/or Elystaa to check for availability .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warnings of sausage abuse and biscuit-cide.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have enjoyed the introduction to Stewing as its affectionately called. I dedicate this to Dave my own personal Iron Bull, Ultrachicory my Angst Imp and to my mom Dar. Who taught me the power of everyday courage. She died six years ago today.
> 
> This is a Multi-chapter with several already writen awaiting a good polish before posting. The will come out as they get done but if you ask nice I have no problem replying with an ETA.
> 
> Speaking of replys another word starts with R review, Please review its what authors and artists alive live on and dollop into our morning tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful opening picture was graciously provided by Thecanibalfactory over on Diviant art.  
> http://thecannibalfactory.deviantart.com/art/Dragon-Age-An-Ill-Considered-Night-After-Drinking-503862325

Chapter1 Warnings of sausage abuse and biscuit-cide.

The sausage speared on the end of Iron Bull’s knife swayed side to side as it was bit into. Juices burst against the Qunari mercenary's large, overly white teeth. His dark pink tongue darted out and licked the savory oils from his lips. His tantalizing mouth leisurely covered the thick outer skin of the sausage before taking another bite. He made a guttural sound of appreciation deep in his throat as he chewed. Bull's throat bobbed with vexing sensuality as he swallowed and again as he washed the bite down with a long drawn-out swig of watery-wine. Iron Bull took another slow, sensual bite, repeating the same visually arousing, innuendo laden display.

  
Dorian wiggled minutely in his seat, discretely adjusting his own visibly growing enjoyment of the breakfast link spectacle. He would swear that Bull requested the same meal, every morning at Skyhold just to make him squirm and stare openly in public. Then again, Bull did genuinely seem to enjoy the head cook's blood sausage, as he himself used to. Perhaps initially it was coincidence. However, once Bull had noticed Dorian's perpetual state of distraction during those early hours of wakefulness, he most assuredly took full advantage from that day on. But, if it was his goal to embarrass Dorian they should break their fast much earlier, alongside the rest of the fortress’ citizens. As it was, the show was only regularly attended by the few citizens that slept late, either by indulgence or because their duties or studies kept them awake long into the night.

  
The suave, immaculately dressed Tevinter was so engrossed in the brazenly erotic show before him, and the few ideas his mind provided, that he almost failed to realize Bull had stopped eating the sausages. Instead he was gesturing widely with the link's mostly-eaten body still embedded on the sharp blade.

  
“I am sorry; I seemed to have missed that. What did you say?” Dorian quickly glanced up at his partner, his eyes were finally unlocked and freed from the absurdly stimulating abused little end of the succulent breakfast meat.

  
“No problem, I know how distracting breakfast can be for you. I said, how about inviting Vivienne up to our loft for a really good time.” Iron Bull smirked, self-assured once more of Dorian's attraction to him.

  
Dorian had taken advantage of the momentary lull in the meaty link induced teasing to bring a spoonful of well honeyed oatmeal up to his mouth. He’d started to swallow the sweet mouthful while Iron Bull spoke, only to choke and sputter on it by the end of Bull's little speech. He coughed and wheezed; the larger male began to worry as his lover began to gasp, drawing far too little air into his lungs. Iron Bull quickly dropped his knife, not caring that the sausage bearing utensil fell to the floor. He was almost absolutely certain that humans should not turn colors, at least not like that. Bull rapidly poured a large goblet full of watery-wine. He handing it to the quickly reddening Tevinter, making sure to wrap his partner's shaking fingers around the cup.

  
Dorian instantly and gratefully downed the contents in one long, shuddering gulp. He closed his stinging eyes and set the empty goblet on the table before producing a monogrammed handkerchief from an interior chest pocket on his elaborate outfit. He used it to wipe away the detestable involuntary tears that had formed on his cheeks. Dorian took deep breath to fortify himself before looking back at the smiling Qunari next to him.

  
“Vishante Kaffas! Do we have to have this conversation here? You know I am not ashamed of our associations, but I can tell you this is the type of conversation normally held in seclusion. Not in the great hall!” Dorian said as he shook his head in disbelief, his whispered words muffled on one side of his mouth by the small white square of fabric.  
“Why not?” Iron Bull asked. “We might as well be alone; Varric is deep into writing the next edition of Swords and Shields for his warrior-princess muse, Cassandra. If how quick that feather in his hand is moving is any indication. Besides, he is too far away to hear anyways. That just leaves that egg-headed dreamer there who is just as liable to fall asleep into his weird, herby oatmeal as to care about what we say.”Bull stabbed another sausage onto the end of his knife, having fetched the blade from the floor, leaving the originally impaled and much abused sausage end where it lay. He then motioned with the fresh morsel to the far end of the long table where the aforementioned elf sat, before the horned man took a large bite. Wiggling the savory link, Iron Bull deliberately continued his toying from earlier.

  
After Iron Bull mentioned the brewing attraction on the dwarf's part, Dorian couldn’t help but notice how the famous writer would pause occasionally. How Varric would look up from his carefully chosen seat and glimpse out through the hall's open doors that just happened to overlook the practice ring. There, one could most often find the beautiful but deadly Seeker, regardless of what daylight hour it happened to be.

  
Ever since Haven's destruction Cassandra seemed to have made it her personal mission that everyone, down to the boys who mucked out horse stalls, had some one-on-one training in self-defense. At first, when she made it clear she was going to teach everyone including the hirelings, Dorian had joked with her about how bruised her 'students' were going to come out of the sparing ring. She shook her head, eyes trained on the floor and told him how when Haven was attacked it was the laborers who ran to meet the front line, how bravely they fought and died. Cassandra's masterful, calm facade had cracked slightly as she visually changed, gaining resolve. She stared at her sword as if it held all the answers for her aching soul, 'Better bruises now then dead later.' She told Dorian finally. Thus it was a required task, you could almost always find her circling around an oddly equipped and unarmored opponent.

  
These flummoxed students often had the comical, but entirely understandable expression of terror on their faces as they held whatever unusual 'weapon' she handed them. The Seeker wanted them to learn that anything could be used as a weapon or at least a shield. Cassandra would have them come at her with mops, horseshoes, wet rags, feather dusters, and once, raw fish. Anything that they might have close at hand if there was to be fighting inside the walls of Skyhold. These 'weapons' further scared and bewildered the poor drudges, especially when faced with Cassandra as an opponent. Her reputation as an exemplary warrior was already legend far before the terrifying events at Haven. In an attempt to alleviate the student's well placed fear the Seeker had replaced her fine long blade and imposing shield for much smaller, lighter wooden practice ones. Even so it was still a most grueling hour for the 'victims' both physically and mentally.

  
The clever woman who was in charge of the laundry had actually begun sending her helpers to the Seeker as a form of punishment for being late, or ruining something. There was one unfortunate fool who had mistakenly left a red scarf in the basket of white underclothes that belonged to Cullen's officers, much to the amusement of the guardsmen under their command. While investigating, The Commander had at first suspected Sera of this dastardly, pink prank. When the real culprit was eventually found he received an hour in the wooden circle for each item that was turned pink. Which meant he would likely serve every day for the next year under Seeker Cassandra's tutelage. This unique form of punishment was soon copied by the rest of Skyhold's domestic staff. She was never short of miscreants; they had even begun lining up against the armory wall, waiting with trepidation for their turn.

  
Varric suddenly winced, and shook his head. Whatever belabored hire-ling out in the circle likely just received one of Cassandra's signature, flat bladed 'teaching' slaps to whatever limb that had been vulnerable.

  
“Now there is a miracle.” Dorian said as he smirked knowingly at the dwarf by the fireplace. “Who would have ever thought the Seeker would find Varric's novels diverting. You know, I tried to read them once and had to wash out my mind with as much soap as I could find.” His mustache twitched as he smiled.

  
“I know, right? I am not normally that far off about people, but who would have ever thought that she has the hots for Varric?” Iron Bull asked as he moved on from the link based teasing and began to eat his scrambled eggs.

  
“No, no, my large friend, I do not believe that's quite it. She likes the romance, the danger of losing herself to passion. To be swept away with it all. Not necessarily with Varric.” Dorian shot back as he poured himself another sip or two of the watery wine that was served alongside of every meal.

  
“I have to disagree with you, Ben-Hassrath training and all. She wants him and he her. Why else would he bring his worst selling story out of retirement? At just a word of her interest carried over by our dear Inquisitor? I bet you a bottle of Antivan brandy that by the time we kill Corypheus they will have been seen kissing in some dark corner by one of Cullen's men.” Bull grinned.  
“That is a very specific bet, I find myself intrigued,” Dorian said as he genteelly dabbed his lips with a one of his many monogrammed handkerchiefs. “So, I have no choice but to take that rather interesting bet.”  
Bull finished his sausages and eggs in accepting silence. Dorian followed suit before his oatmeal congealed into a solid mass. There were few things Dorian hated worse than cold oatmeal, but he had to watch his figure. Without the option of a bowl of fresh fruit like he would normally eat back in Tevinter, he had initially eaten the heavy meals of eggs, sausage and gravy that most people here ate. He had thought all the traveling and staff work during fights would counteract the fattening foods like it had during the time they’d traipsed about in the Hinterlands.

  
However, after getting a few towers established to garner the support of the cantankerous Master Dennet the inner circle of the Inquisition had all been gifted fine Ferelden mounts. Dorian quickly found his belts needed to be let out a notch or two. He had tried just eating less of the meat hardy meal but it seemed as if he even looked at gravy he would gain weight.

  
He watched in envy as Bull plated two biscuits and then all but drowned them in heaping spoonfuls of his favorite jam. The jam was special in only that Dorian had tracked a Qunari trader down outside Val Royeaux. He’d paid him handsomely to send back a few jars of this very specific jam, which in solitary hailed from the town Iron Bull grew up in. Jam was one of only two sweeteners allowed in the Qun; it was of course made and eaten only by locals. Each town used what natural resources that were available to them, so each community could have vastly different flavored jam. Bull had once mentioned how he missed the flavor of a certain small, red berry that only grew in his homeland. He would gripe about the jams in Ferelden being the only thing worth eating there, even if they were far too sweet, and perish the thought of the mountain of sugar used in the making of Orlesian jellies and jams.

  
Iron Bull had told his lover the story of how the Tamasrans discovered that he could lie quite convincingly, as well as being sneaky as cat and strong as an ox. It had involved stealing a very large jar of the jam and hoisting it up into hiding on the roof. Bull had even convinced another child of the Qun to come forward to the Tamasrans and claim responsibility. As far as Iron Bull knew the other Qunari child grew up still believing he’d stolen it in his sleep! That day the Tamasrans enrolled Bull into the classes that had prepared him to join the Ben-Hassrath. They had also allowed him to keep the jam; a reward for being so clever.

  
Bull’s mirth at his youthful misadventures made Dorian's heart skip a beat. It was then that Dorian knew he was in love with The Iron Bull. The Jam became a symbol his love for the Qunari mercenary. Dorian had presented the special treat as a sign of that affection to mark the one year anniversary of their relationship. Ever since receiving it, Bull would bring down a jar for breakfast and afterwards return it to their loft for safe keeping, not trusting the kitchen staff with its care. Bull’s eyes had misted over when Dorian unexplained where the jam was from. They made love that night, sweet, soft and perfect. A week later, Bull gave him a full length standing mirror that now held a place of honor in the loft. It was worth a fortune. The only other person in Skyhold that had one comparable in size was Vivienne but Dorian was not inclined in the least to share it with anyone but Bull. That eventful evening had truly been a night of note, the mirror reflecting a dozen candle's shimmering, flickering light and two moving shadows embracing each other in the silvery sheen.

  
One of the kitchen staff walked by with a kettle of hot water, her upper lip curled into a sneer jerked Dorian out of his fond recollection. She had silently set the steaming pot down on the table between the lovers and then retreated downstairs without a word, her shoes clacking loud against the stone floor. Dorian had made sure to get a good look at the woman as she rushed through her duties, saving her identity for a later discussion with Josephine. Dorian and Bull were used to some of the staff’s rudeness, after their relationship became common knowledge.

  
By the next dawn after their very public outing, Mother Giselle denounced them both as unworthy of the Maker’s sight, unworthy of Andraste's forgiveness. She had lost a large portion of her congregation after that, many of whom came and apologized in her name, but she never did approach them herself. Instead she had toned down her openly decisive -rhetoric, but those who continued to follow her sermons were rabid in their faith, in how they believed the Chant of Light to be interpreted.

  
Eventually it took the Inquisitor's direct edict that any person, high or low, that she or her advisers found guilty of making hateful, discriminatory speech of any kind would be expelled from Skyhold and the Inquisition at large. With the sole exception of words against slavers, violent criminals, Corypheus or those virulent few that conspired with him, and other official enemies. The small, commanding Dwarven woman had gone even further, having Josephine issue a divine epiphany and send it all over Thedas. It stated that the Maker loves all those that love another be them of any race or inclination, with the understood exception of abusers including pedophiles. Dorian was sure that Josephine made it much more grand sounding than the simplified version he remembered the Inquisitor saying. Now only the most hidebound approached them without kindness and a smile, even Mother Giselle. They had slowly gotten rid of the most obvious of the animosity-blinded hirelings, but as Skyhold and the Inquisition grew they needed more and more people making it an ongoing endeavor.

  
Solas had silently moved closer when he realized that the serving wench was not going to return with another pot for the other end of the long table. Seated on the other side of Dorian, he pulled out a small square of white cloth and a tiny brown pouch. From the pouch he poured out several shriveled dry looking brown beans; he shook the pouch to ensure every crumb made it onto the white square. Both Dorian and Iron Bull watched, fascinated as Solas continued. The elf had folded the beans into the center of the cloth and then proceeded to use the round pommel of his eating knife to crush the encased beans. Bull had seen him do this ritual only once before, at that time the thin apostate looked as haggard as he did now, eyes drooped with weariness and a grim line set on his mouth. Once no more sounds of crunching could be heard from inside the white cloth, Solas bound it closed with string and placed it inside the large wooden mug from his belt.

  
“What are you doing?” Dorian finally asked, no longer able to keep the curiosity at bay. His eyes glimmered darkly at the thought of learning something new about the mysterious, pointed eared Fade specialist.

  
Solas sighed before he replied, reaching for the kettle containing the hot water. “I am making a cup of Coffee”

  
“I have never heard of this coughfee.” Dorian quipped, as he looked at the elf out of the corner of his eyes.

  
“And you would not have, it is an ancient Elvhen medicinal drink for stamina that I picked up in my studies in the Fade.” Solas calmly lectured as he poured hot water into the mug, causing a rich acidic aroma to rise into the air.

  
“That smells good, Chuckles, and I could sure use the stamina” Bull had picked up Varric's nickname for Solas. He used it as he leaned forward, stealing the mug out from under the elf's nose and took a small sip. No expression crossed his face as he swallowed and handing it to his lover.

  
Dorian received the cup under the nearly lethal glares from the apostate next to him. Shrugging he inhaled a deep breath of the lovely aroma and took a small mouthful of the piping hot liquid.  
“Maker!” he exclaimed, his face twisted into disgust. He more than willingly relinquished the steaming mug to its owner. “How can anything smell so good and taste so very bad? Bull, I thought you loved me! Yet you handed me the vile poison! I am hurt!” Dorian grinned as he said it, taking the sting off the halfhearted accusation away.

  
“I did say it was medicinal.” Solas said as he wiped the lip of the mug before he took a sip and sat back. He pulled a slim book from inside his vest and began to read, deliberately ignoring the coffee thieves.

  
From the platter in front of the couple Dorian selected two tiny metal tea diffusers stuffed with the rich, sweet black tea most in the fortress drank with breakfast. Iron Bull requisitioned the hot water kettle and poured each of them a mug that he had already placed on the corner of the table between them. The Qunari slid the mug toward his lover exchanging it for the small metal ball and chain that Dorian held out. Both men picked up the steaming cup in front of them one after the other and plunked the tea catches into the awaiting mugs. Bull sighed deep and long, the luxury of a slow, warm breakfast was one that they did not get to enjoy often. The wooden seats creaked as they leaned back. All three at the table sipped the warm beverages slowly. Each in their own way enjoying the lazy uneventful morning lost in thought, safe and pampered inside Skyhold instead of on the hard ground at one of the forward scout camps. It had become rare for them to sleep in the feather-down beds. The Inquisitor’s hand was needed to close so many rifts all across Thedas and where she went her inner circle followed.

  
The Inquisitor trusted Dorian as her best friend. She often spoke to him about the puzzling dynamics of her companions. Her newest quandary was that she had quickly noticed some combinations of people were not wise, and had asked him to think about it. The small Dwarven woman was sometimes easily overwhelmed by so many powerful personalities, lost in how to create balance in this ragtag company.

  
The conclusion he had reached was complex. For a start, Sera and Vivienne were to be restricted from each other’s company under strong orders to never come closer to each other than thirty feet. If Dorian could keep them so, he would. Cole was never to be allowed near either woman for his own good.

  
Most of the others of her inner circle worked in perfect unison no matter the combination, and some even offered the added benefit of comedic conversation. Varric had taken Cole under his wing, helping the spirit in his quest to become more human. Which surprisingly, Cassandra not only approved of, but often helped when the three of them were along with the Inquisitor for fast, mainly straightforward excisions. Solas and Cole's friendship seemed to have deepened even more when in the field together, nearly having entire conversations no one but the two could follow. Dorian had scoffed and snorted when the Inquisitor had told him their soothing, half-understood conversations provided her a peaceful experience.

  
Iron Bull, Dorian and Solas were her power team and with them she bragged openly that they could defeat anything. She even repeated it sober to Dorian and Solas, just before she ran headlong into a dragon’s lair back in the Hinterlands only two weeks prior. She was right, Bull kept the beast occupied on the ground, Dorian rained down damage, Solas casting barriers, and lastly the Inquisitor shooting its hide full of arrows, eventually the beast had fallen under their combined might. She had let Bull keep one of the teeth as a memento. He had Dagna split it in twain and cap it with Silverite so he could present it to Dorian. They kept it on the shelf in their loft right beside the jars of Jam, which was a scant hand span away from the luxurious Mirror.

 


	2. This Bottle of Champagne Has A Smutty Mirror In It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull has a special surprise for Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, I warn you my writing is Never Safe For Work. NSFW. This chapter is M/M explicit sensual and sexual references read at your own discretion.  
> ~Dedicated to ...Ultrachicory, may The Angst Imp always have rose colored cheeks.

Iron Bull adjusted the horn wrap keeping his sparkling, formal eye patch in place. Again.  
He scowled at his immense reflection; even this mirror was not wide enough to display his whole image from where he stood. Their room was spacious enough, but Bull still stood hands taller than the human-made furniture. That was not counting the height of his horns. Sometimes he wished he was more human looking, less Qunari. Grey, cold, horned demon, he had heard those insults and so many more. Worse still were the nervous reactions and prejudice. Even children of his own race were frightened of him, his sheer size intimidated. Princes, Emperors and Men alike just saw his prowess with any melee weapon. They saw him as a weapon that could be used and then discarded after his usefulness was over. A soulless killing machine. Women were better and sometimes worse. They wanted his other weapon, but never to keep. Just an illicit night of screaming passion was all they wanted from him. Not that there was really anything wrong with that, but after a while it lacked the appeal it had once held for him.

Other times he was fiercely proud of his heritage. He was the epitome of Qunari breeding, generation of Tamassrans had guided every one of his traits into being. He was immensely strong, his voice carried across battlefields and bedrooms alike. Not to mention the stamina that fueled him to keep going long after others has fallen to the ground in exhaustion. He had earned every mark on his giant body with blood, sweat, and tears. His eye was once again cast at the silvered surface, this time the image that was reflected back was somehow more handsome then it had been just seconds before. His scars cast long shadows on his immense and impressive physique. The light in the loft was still dim despite innumerable candles that burned on every surface. Bull found himself grateful of the warm, appealing glow they cast over his typically dull, gray Qunari skin. The pleated waist band on the red billowing pants he wore flattered his hulking frame. Which, if he was choosing to be honest with himself, was now slightly more barrel-shaped around the middle then when he’d first met Dorian.

He had spent hours that morning under the talented hands of the Inquisitor. She had expertly shaped and buffed his horns till they nearly gleamed, as if she was a Tamassran all along. Then with the addition of actual, authentic horn oil from Par Volen they actually did shine. His horns were gouged from enemy weapons, and seared from magical attacks, but with her help most of them were smoothed out. His buxom friend also had to carefully fill in the cracks and nicks with a mixture of hoof glue and actual shavings of his own horn from the earlier filing. The Inquisitor had patiently done her very best to make him look good for his special evening. However the last few years, without the proper oils and care, still left their mark.

“Marks may be more accurate.” He whispered to the reflection as he ran his hands along the angry red scar that stretched from just below his left nipple down across his well-toned midsection, over his curved love handles and around the edge of his hip. Touching it made him smile smugly as he remembered the Ataashi who gave it to him. He had done his best to avoid the dragon’s massive maw only to be slashed at by the beast’s claws. He could have avoided the wound but the party had been taken unaware and was ill prepared. He had needed to keep the creature’s attention directed on him and not on those far less robust party members. Two mages, one rogue, and himself. Yet they had still brought the winged monster down. That fight had been glorious; he turned slightly to the side and ran his hand over the ivory remnant of that enormous creature.

“That's right, who killed you? The Iron Fucking Bull that's who. Who earned every scar on his magnificent body? The Iron Fucking Bull! Who is going to get himself some hot cocoa Tevinter ass tonight? THE IRON FUCKING BULL!” He chanted, getting louder with each passing chorus. He grinned at himself one more time before he turned around and began rummaging in the storage chest across the room for a decorative piece of cloth to wrap the mirror in, Dorian always stashed leftover cloth in there after he made a new outfit. There had to be something nice that would work.

He had ordered the tall standing mirror that loomed over his own impressive height, well in advance for what Dorian said was the birthday of their romance. There was some disagreement between the two about the exact day the year prior that it began. Dorian insisted that it was when they first drunkenly groped each other until they’d both come, hot and sticky, entangled in each other’s limbs and breathing hard in the dark attic of the tavern. Thankfully the spirit boy, who normally resided there, was out in the field with the Inquisitor. Bull surprised himself in thinking that it was over a week after that, the day when Dorian had returned to Bull’s loft, in the clear light of day and completely sober. The 'under the cover of darkness' escapades that were between the first and the later hardly counted as a genuine relationship in his eye. Not any more, with Dorian that would have never been enough. The man was delectable, wicked and perfect for him in every way. There was really only one thing missing, but tonight would take care of that.

At that moment he heard the clatter of the battlement door on the floor below which served as both a lounging area for them and as the office for the Charger's Captain. It was nearly identical to Commander Cullen’s apartment, the biggest difference was it happened to be a corner tower. The loft area covered the entire footage of the second level except the square where the ladder came up through, unlike Cullen’s half loft. The hole had to be enlarged to accommodate Bull, but it worked out nicely, and with Dorian’s sense of décor it soon felt like a home. Sure there was some traffic through the office area as it was on the ramparts, but that was only at specific and predictable times during the guards’ rounds. This not being one of those times since it was after hours for the Keep and the guards’ schedule was more about staying put than marching around. Bull knew the sound of the door latching was most likely Dorian as he returned home from his duties in the library, the shuffle of his feet and yawn confirmed it. Even an emergency messenger would knock or, well, pound. No one in the entire Keep dared to enter without permission after one unfortunate and untimely runner was pitched into a manure heap off the lofty height of the fortification’s balustrade.

“Manure it will be, if I mess this up.” Bull whispered to himself as he panicked, casting his eye around the room searching for a scrap of cloth big enough to hide the mirror temporarily. Over the top of their colossal four-post canopy bed, he spotted a fabric that might work. If Varric was to be trusted, that same bed was once owned by a very lusty emperor from Rivain. ‘Orgy-size’ he called it. Before the Dwarf had found it Bull had slept on the floor while his love snoozed on the small cot tucked against the cold stone wall. That made sex with the more delicately limbed man all the more inventive and hard. The bruises they both sported on hands, knees and hind ends could attest to that. So when the smarmy salesman from up north first contacted Varric, the sharp witted dwarf knew exactly who to offer the ‘historical’ item to. Iron Bull had gladly paid the sum master Tethras indicated and a few months later it arrived at the gates of Skyhold. It reassembled easily. The only real problem was the moth eaten fabric, which thrilled his suave, shopping crazed bedmate. He silently hoped Dorian would not notice its misappropriation as he yanked the diaphanous blue fabric off the bed’s rails. With it in hand Bull rushed over to cover the tall mirror. With a whisper it fell in soft obscuring waves over the decorative wooden frame. He was just straightening how it hung as Dorian's dark pompadour popped up above the edge of the loft ladder.  
…  
Dorian had just cleared the rungs as he was swept up into Iron Bull’s arms and carried over to a large draped object directly across from the bed. He had no idea what such a large item could be, however the cover looked suspiciously like the canopy off the bed. Dorian was so intent on scowling at the fabric it took him a moment to realize how clean and warmly glowing their shared bedroom had become. The wooden floor gleamed with polish. The spider webs had been swept away, evicting the eight legged menaces, and the bed was made completely, sans the drape. Those feats alone pleased Dorian, sending a smoldering warmth for the big, grey male to wrap around his fluttering heart.

As Iron Bull set him down in front of the tall, swathed shape he glanced at the Qunari who was himself startlingly spotless and dressed up in his finest cloths. Usually that outfit was reserved for official Skyhold work with visiting dignitaries. Iron Bull did indeed cut a striking appearance in the soft red fabric, as Dorian knew he would. After all, the mage had nearly made the castle seamstress crazy with his presence during its construction. He had a suspicion that the head seamstress has moved his order to the top of the queue just to be rid of his presence, all the sooner. It had been more than worth it to see Bull in this outfit though.

“Bull this looks suspiciously like chapter fourteen of Varric's smutty tale, are we also to reenact the scene where the knight-captain Aveline hides her lover Donnic in the shadowy corner of the woman's barracks next to her bed as she is ravished all too willingly by her Commander? Because I can tell you he would have had to be tranquil not to have tented the covering even a little. Completely giving up the game all too soon. I can also say no matter how shadowy that corner was next her while she was being despoiled would hide his illustrious ten inch member. And that is just the length of it!” Dorian scoffed tilting his head all the way back to watch the smile unfold on Bull’s face as the barb turned into a complete snow-job.  
Iron Bull laughed a rich throaty sound, which set his whole chest heaving. “You joke now, but you know you would enjoy playing knight-captain to my Commander.” He smiled down at Dorian as he first claimed the human's hand, and then brought it up in a wide arch to kiss the back of it. He then guided it down and forward, placing the palm flat against the cloth covered mirror. Dorian's face blossomed into a decedent smile as Bull took a few steps backwards before he sat down on the foot of their bed.

“Happy Birthday of our relationship, your gift is below the cover.” Bull said, awash with excitement.  
“I think the word you’re looking for anniversary. Bull” Dorian quipped over his shoulder as he bunched the silky drape in his hand and yanked it away.

The candles wavered in the silence; the elaborately draped tent-like fabric used as décor on the ceiling billowed slightly as a cold breeze hissed between the crack above the wooden shudders and below the stone peaked window frame. The tiny flames of the waxen edifices flicked brightly once again. Iron Bull’s deceptively delicate Orlesian masks from his time stationed in Val Royeaux stared down at him from the stony walls. The flowers, feathers and scented bobbles Dorian adorned the many shelves with quivered as if they too could barely endure the tension. The candles flickered a third time in the baited stillness before Iron Bull could not withstand the wait.

"You like it, right? Because this silence is a bit unnerving." Bull asked as he gripped his own knee almost painfully tight. Never before had Bull found himself so afraid of rejection.

"Bull I simply do not have the words to say how much I like it. It is nearly the same size and clarity as the one I left behind in Minrathous. It… it sings to me." Dorian whispered warmly, Iron Bull was reassured by the sound of his lover's reply, so much so the exact words mattered little.

That he had selected a gift far beyond the scope of what his beloved was expecting released the tension knotting in his shoulders almost all at once leaving him more relaxed than he had been all day. First he fretted over the delivery and installment. After that he worried about arranging the loft to please Dorian’s high standard. Then the details, like flowers and enticing incense tied his stomach back on itself. He missed dinner entirely, leaving his innards to complain loudly while he muttered derogatorily about his appearance. The waiting had been the worst but all that time, effort and gold had been worth it. Just to see the northern mage smile like that, he would have crossed oceans.

“And what does it sing Kadan?” Bull asked leisurely, as he leaned back. His weight on his splayed hands behind him as the last of the tension over the big reveal evaporated.

Dorian spun around, the silky cerulean blue cloth still in his hand dramatically draped around him. It then flared slightly as he stopped abruptly, facing the bed and Iron Bull. “Why a dirty limerick of course!”

The brazen Tevinter swept forward and began humming, starting low but gaining in volume with every chord. His shoulders rolled suggestively in time with the purred melody. Dorian slowly swung his neck and head in a wide ark and on the second pass he allowed his body to follow the momentum into a swirl of blue silk. The thin chiffon acted as an overly large dancing cape. He swooped and dipped it around his body over and over, in well-practiced movements. He shimmied about the room rotating his hips seductively.

He never seemed to stop but Iron Bull's sharp gaze noticed small differences in how his lover was adorned, losing armor, adding jewelry and other ornaments as he spun around the room sensually. The incense smoke swirled around his dusky beckoning fingers. His hauntingly beautiful melody followed each plunge of his hips and sweep of his arms. The metal jewelry Dorian added to his costume chimed against itself, adding a high note not entirely in sync with the tune. With each movement and deepening detail Bull was easily falling under this erotic spell. The gems on them caught and scattered the lights of the candles, every so often adding just that final touch of majesty. Bull knew in that moment his very soul belonged to the Tevinter before him, despite their origins, despite the blood and words exchanged. He was his in every way, willingly and joyfully.

The seductive mage posed dramatically in front of Bull, his back arched, arms spread wide. The blue fabric draped behind him in a crescent from hand to hand. He smirked, hooded his eyes and let Bull feel the hunger that raged inside. Dorian’s eyes traveled down over his lover’s body, the flicking flames dashed light across his impressive muscles. Iron Bull’s large erection visibly strained against the confines of the red fabric. Seeing his obvious interest, the Qunari ran just his fingertips along the hard ridge on the underside of his cock. He simply stole the Altus’ breath in a simple, self-gratifying gesture. It nearly threw the drama of the moment off, despite the sexual tension that ran through every nerve ending in his body, Dorian kept the melody steady. With delightfully naughty intentions he punishingly increased the tempo of the highly sexual movements. The Tevinter’s toned midriff was highlighted by the candles’ flames as he undulated his hips forward again and again. His breath became faster. His cheeks took on a red tint as he exerted himself, continuing his highly evocative dance.

Bull's eye roved his body taking in each detail as his own pulse sped. Several of the flowers Bull had earlier made a bouquet of decorated the dark, lustrous human’s hair; one of his blue and green feathered masks was strapped around the side of the mage's head. Gold glitzed brightly at his neck and hands, glimmering and swinging with every movement. The top of Dorian's gilded, sumptuous robe was undone to the waist and its long arms somehow knotted into a bow that rested atop his pert perfect ass. It left his chest bare for Bull to devour with his gaze. The opulent edging on the swirling fabric nearly matched his heavy robe as it shimmered around him. The light leather armor that he wore around his chest and mid-drift was loosened and it hung not quite above his hipbones. It was likely only held in place by the knotted sleeves of his robe. Bull didn’t care, Dorian looked amazing and he could feel himself become more aroused by the moment.

Dorian's hips rose and dropped as he swung them in time with the tune, he hummed loudly into the suddenly warm air. His arms glided through the air, tracing arcane runes and mystic symbols between them. They drew Bull forward, his hands gripped his knees to hold himself down. He wanted to let his lover to continue, to have the dark skinned man come to him, hot and ready. Bull visibly trembled with the sensual energy that the smaller man expertly created in their bedroom loft.

Dorian could barely contain himself but was determined to make it through the entire stanza. The song was a melody of passion and the dance was carefully designed to be as erotic to the dancer as it was to the audience. The song was well known to the wealthy of Minrathous having been designed by an Antivan courtesan of renowned talent. She performed it publicly for her current lover, the Imperial Archon. The court was scandalized and very intrigued. She then made a fortune teaching it to the empire’s elite courtesans and a handful of carefully vetted nobles. It became the thing one must do to titillate their jaded courtly lovers. The Madam did not just allow anyone to learn personally from her, money, nor titles moved her, and she judged the applicants herself. Beauty or age did not sway her judgment, grace and wit were the prerequisite she demanded. There were very few who met her standards. Dorian had been one of those few, even with his preference for men he found himself deeply aroused by watching her and her male assistant demonstrate the steps over and over again. In the end her assistant Magnus had come to him after every session to see to his needs. The memory of a skilled mouth around his member, made him moan as it throbbed and rubbed against the suddenly confining garments about his hips.

Dorian didn’t know how much longer he could go without Bull’s touch, he had forgotten how powerful this dance was. Seeing his lover quivering on the edge of their bed was an addictive sight, one the Altus would never forget. Desire tightened his balls and his cock felt near to bursting. At last the limerick he moved and gyrated to was finally ending. Its last line sung rather than hummed. “I need you now.” His breath coming fast and his skin glistening. Dorian pulled the cerulean cloth about him and prepared to pull off one, last dramatic swirl as the ending note of the song still hung on his lips.


	3. The Beefcake from Par Vollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the erotic dance Dorian taunted Iron Bull with comes to fruition and the story plot starts to spin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> – NSFW- Caution graphically explicit and complicated male on male sexual activity. 
> 
> Please read responsibly, lube and/or a vibrator are advised. Or, if read irresponsibly a cold shower will be necessary. Enjoy, and yes this is why I am The Smutt Fairy.

The sound of ripping cloth filled the echoing silence of their shared loft, replacing the once imagined tune Dorian had just been moving his hips to seconds before. With a squeal of terror Dorian's eyebrows rode up nearly an inch on his perfectly horrified face. Iron Bull had reached out and gathered a corner of the beguiling blue cloth between two outstretched fingers unbeknownst to him during the last moments of his delectable dance.

  
"Bull! I had to wait a month for that fabric to get here all the way from Antiva!"

  
“Then you will just have to order more, because what I have in mind...yeah.” Iron Bull purred as he gripped the fabric tighter with both hands. His eye turned hard as diamond in its unbreakable strength and enduring brilliance. Not even the real gemstones on his eye-patch could compare in luster. His large, gray mercenary hands caught roughly on the silk chiffon's delicate weave as he rubbed his thumbs on it in small, slow circles.

  
Dorian watched this sublime tactile display before he glanced up and their eyes caught. Dorian was captivated by the passion he saw there, his own eyes long ago had turned into a simmering hazel storm. Dorian shivered slightly under the intense stare before he glanced down at the fabric once more. Bull pulled the fragile fabric between his fists, increasing the tension between him and the deeply bronzed Tevinter mage. With both hands Iron Bull grasped the shimmering silk sharply. He slowly pulled his hands apart, deliberately ripping the fabric further.  
Dorian’s face froze in a look of rapt attention and pleasure as he watched the rip travel up and up. The ruinous tear began to grow faster and faster under the powerful, unrelenting force of the Qunari male. As each thread snapped the mage shivered again and harder the closer it traveled up to him. Dorian could easily escape the powerful warrior who held him, who’d pinned him to the spot silent and still with only his gaze… if he wanted. But it was a different want entirely that laid claim to his heart and body.

  
As if he could take the infinitesimal rips no more, Iron Bull suddenly pulled Dorian to him with a quick, sharp tug with on the soft, shredded blue silk. This caused the wide-eyed human to stumble, landing on his knees with a loud thud from the floorboards between two powerful, grey thighs.

Once Bull had complete control of the silk chiffon he quickly tore off long thin strips, one after the other. Dorian knelt transfixed by the violent movement of his partner’s muscles. The scared and stone-tinted chest before his eyes was gloriously bare. Oiled and adorned by only the gold nipple ring Bull had recently acquired, it was utterly captivating. His arms, large and strong, the muscles flexed with each deliberate tear. The motion ended with a flick of his wrist before gently and silently setting each piece down beside him on the bed. Five strips in total lay on the bed beside Iron Bull’s firm buttocks, beautifully shimmering and ephemeral in the candle light. All but for the last single strip. It hung from his hand, fluttering and dancing while he inhaled deeply as if he was trying to imprint this memory by smell alone. Dorian felt as if he could not catch his breath, watching Bull examine the piece in his hand before nodding to himself with a deep hum in his throat. His mustachioed mouth and bronzed throat dry, and so very parched, sweet soothing air came in short sharp gasps. Bull had not even touched him yet, he felt as if he were coming down the other side of completion. The cynical Tevinter stole a quick glance down to reassure himself he had not made a much younger man’s foolish and hasty mistake.

  
The Iron Bull could not hold back the smirk that spread across his lips and canted his voice to a low growl. “Hands. Now.”

  
Dorian surrendered each hand with a flourish before he placed both inner wrists together. He smiled sweetly, anticipating the smooth slide of the silk and the jarring yank of a well secured knot that followed. Bull held Dorian's bound wrists high above the kneeling man’s head with one powerful hand while the other hand busied itself undoing the remaining buckles and laces that kept his lover clothed throughout his provocative display. There were surprisingly few, making the Qunari leer as he quickly removed every shred of clothing and armor left on his fiery mage. The war roughened hands slid the garb towards the wood plank floor pooling across Dorian's calves and around his knees.

  
Those hands that would be more than pleased to cut down dragons, gently caressed Dorian's sweat slicked chest. Three gray digits encircled mauve nipples and traced the human’s minimal chest hair where it began just above the delectably pinkish brown navel. The smooth black hairs that played trail to Iron Bull’s wandering fingers incrementally thickened the farther down one cared to explore. The bound mage soon found his hands free of their flesh and bone prison, but still entrapped by those of silk and his own mind. He rested his bound wrists atop his head to appease his beloved mercenary captain.

  
Bull leaned back once more, his arms supporting his weight. He smirked, enjoying the dark decadent display for a moment before he cocked an eyebrow. With a slight arch he gave the captive Tevinter before him a wordless command. Nodding his head in one smooth dip to show his playful obedience, Dorian lowered his hands and fondled himself between his bound palms. On his knees Dorian slowly shuffled forward with a small self-confident that grin that played at the corner of his lips. Without the aid of his otherwise occupied hands, he leaned forward twice in quick succession. Each trip the mage snagged the knotted end of the lounging male’s drawstring between his strong, white teeth. With quick, practiced ease the slim human loosened his partner’s waistband enough that it would no longer impede the removal of the traditionally cut Qunari- bottoms.

  
Dorian took a steadying breath before leaning his face into the larger man’s crotch and carefully bit into the loose hanging cloth that draped there. The scent that was undefinably Bull filled his nostril’s weaving in and out of the overpowering trace of the incense. Skillfully he scooted backwards on his knees, avoiding his armor and the robe that still littered the floor around him. Far too slowly for both of them, he reached the Qunari's feet, which Bull was helpful enough to balance in the air before he allowed the scarlet garment to clear his gray toes. Once Bull was as nude as he, Dorian stood to step out of the ring of his shifted pile of gear and sauntered across the room stroking his own arousal teasingly, in long drawn out strokes. The tiny thrills of pleasure made him bite the inside of his bottom lip, but more importantly it made a husky groan escape Bull’s parted mouth.

  
Halfway back, Dorian closed his eyes seductively with fluttering lashes as he continued his self-ministrations. Each stroke of his brown hands on his member was firm and slow. He caught the foreskin and pulled it down over and over with the combined pressure of his palms bound together. He chuckled slightly as he heard Bull growl at him to return to the foot of the bed. Since Bull had not told him to stop, he continued stroking himself as he walked forward slowly, one leather booted foot directly in front of the other. His thumbs catching the nerve laden head with every upstroke, until he stood within the half circle of strong gray thighs. With The Iron Bull lounging as he was, despite the height difference, Dorian's florid member quivered at the Qunari’s eye level.

  
“You know Dorian,” The Iron Bull began nonchalantly. “I only have one eye left; you will be really upset if you put it out with that thing.” A wicked chortle crossed Bull’s face and shined out from his eyes as he opened his mouth to say something more... “hmmmmmf... mmmm” Was all he could say around Dorian's insistent lips.

  
Dorian licked, nipped, and bit to get closer to Bull to intensify the kiss. The small mage stretched his body over the other man’s large frame, grinding his cock and bound hands on his lover’s taught stomach muscles. Under his own weight he slowly wriggled his hands upwards until he could give the gold piercing in Iron Bull’s nipple a soft, tension building pull. Bull grunted and responded enthusiastically, but no matter what Dorian tried he would not allow the insatiable mage entry into the moist cavern that was his mouth. Dorian whimpered as he sucked on Bull’s lower lip and was rewarded with a dark chuckle that reverberated through the large Qunari's chest and onto his bound hands now pursed for balance there, temporarily.

  
Releasing Iron Bull’s swollen lips Dorian bit the large grey chin offered up to him, the following love bites traveled down the Qunari’s neck and collar bone in quick succession. One hard bite that neared deliciously close to pain was delivered at the dark grey juncture of his impressive shoulders and strong neck. As Dorian slowly released his teeth from around the bruised, purple skin a harsh moan passed Iron Bull’s lips like a wordless prayer. Hearing this delightful sound Dorian found his forehead on the meaty joint of the large shoulders under him, as he calmed himself and dragged his fingernails down over the muscular rolling plains of his partner’s core. When his fingers buried themselves in the coarse gray nether hairs, he quickly made a fist and gave the handful a sharp tug, eliciting another pleasurable grunt and a dirty grin from the man under him.

  
One of The Iron Bull’s large hands came up and cradled the much smaller human’s face before it slipped across his skin down over his chiseled jaw. His hand was so large that the thumb rested just below Dorian's pert chin and the callused fingers circled all the way around the back of his neck to apply pressure along both of the tense, corded muscles that protect the spine. The Iron Bull held him, just beneath the edge of his thick, black, silken hair, squeezing gently. The pressure on his neck was increased slowly, causing Dorian's engorged, naked member to twitch against The Iron Bull’s hipbone where it was pressed tightly. Bull’s own erection beaded at the tip under the caresses from Dorian's skillful but bound fingers.

  
“Down.” Bull murmured breathlessly as the pressure on Dorian's neck grew, guiding him back down to his knees between the warrior’s massive thighs. This was a game both knew well, their parts and lines well established in the year they had been together. But tonight was going to be special, Dorian just didn't know it yet as he took the bright pink tip of Bull's straining member into his mouth. Between the palms of his bound hands Dorian began gently stroking the pinkish-gray foreskin up and down rhythmically in time with his sucking mouth. As the saliva began to slide down from the large, bulbous head onto the broad shaft the mage increased his tempo, the rougher friction causing Bull to hiss slightly.

  
Dorian could no longer keep his hips still despite the knowledge all he could thrust against was the wooden foot-board of their emperor sized four-post bed. From past misadventures involving splinters in a very telling location, he knew it was not wise to move his hips so much but he could not help himself as his lover moaned his name. Dorian groaned at even the friction of one thrust against the unforgiving hard wood, his mouth released from its gratifying pursuit.

  
“More, please.” Was all Dorian could say, begging as he stilled his hips and hands with an iron will, taught to him over the last few pleasure filled months with Bull. The mercenary smirked and sharply patted Dorian's cheek, liberating his nearly punishing grip on Dorian’s neck.

  
“Yes, you will get so much more.” The Iron Bull purred. “I have another surprise for you Dorian. Do you remember when we spoke about real Qunari horn oil? And how ahh… similar it is to that very special crème ointment in Tevinter? I was able to order some of that ointment, telling Josie it was for my horns. She blushed so damn pretty knowing its more typical use but still ordered it for the health of my horns!”

  
He chuckled as he reached back up the bed and rifled under the stack of pillows there. “I didn't even have to lie to her once, I don't think she would have been as happy when she handed this too me yesterday… if she knew which 'horns' I plan to use it on.” Bull grinned as he showed the Tevinter born mage a Qunari palm-sized jar. The glass jar itself was a work of art, decorated in spiraling gold leaves with a small gilded latch in the front and an even smaller hinge in the rear.

At the sight of that familiar, erotic jar Dorian had to stop himself from dropping down his already full hands to his own aching need. Just as his hands began to stray downwards, a light slap was delivered from Bull’s empty hand to Dorian's flushed cheeks. Bull’s eye darkened as he held the jar closer to the flustered mage. The slap had its intended consequence of Dorian’s frozen limbs, smoldering aroused and stunned expression. Before Dorian had even registered it a low whine of need slipped out between hot swollen lips.

  
“You do want me to use this don't you? You dirty mage, you want me to slather my dick in this and take you? You do, don't you?” Bull growled teasingly as he leaned down so his mouth was beside the human’s small caramel colored, shell-shaped ear. The hot breath on his sensitive neck and ear caused Dorian’s skin to pebble in anticipation.

  
“You want me to fuck you in the ass as you scream my name under me, and conquer you until you yell Katoh over and over for me to stop.” Bull whispered to him, it clung within Dorian's brain until all he could do was nod again and again, breathlessly. His pupils were blown wide with excitement and his nostrils involuntary flared in anticipation.

  
With exaggerated care, Bull placed the precious jar on the low wooden stool which he’d set beside the bed for just that purpose. He caught his lover’s eyes and held them as he untied Dorian’s hands, then motioned for the mage to spin around by silently twirling a finger in the air between them. Dorian lifted an elegant brow in response before he stood and turned his back to the mercenary. Both of his wrists were simultaneously pulled behind his back sharply before they were tied there with the soft silk. The juxtaposition of the slap, rough handling and the soft silk around his wrists made a bead of pre-come rundown the underside of Dorian’s straining erection.

  
Dorian bit back a sharp curse as each side of his rump was slapped hard enough to sting, before they were roughly pried apart, allowing a single fingertip to begin to tease the puckered hole. Swirling around it provocatively, not nearly as much as he wanted, or needed though. The Iron Bull continued snaking that single finger around and around. It made Dorian whine and try to push back against that one gray digit, knowing he would need that and many more before he was stretched enough to accommodate Iron Bull’s oh so long and thick cock.

  
“Bad boy!” The accompanying smack to his pert ass cheek made him gasp. A delicious burn traveled down his rump and twisted into his hot, dangling ball sack. It stung so much Dorian hardly noticed when Bull removed his tormenting hand and wrapped it around his waist tightly. The muscles in his lover's arms bunched as he hoisted then tossed Dorian over the edge of the bed towards the fluffy middle. With his hands tied behind him, his face pressed into the ambrosial, musky scented covers and his rear up in the cold air, the bound mage could not help but feel exposed and painfully aroused.

  
The beefcake easily hoisted his smaller, human body into the perfect position, his knees at the edge of the bed and his feet hanging free. Iron Bull’s body draped over Dorian’s as he reached for the ointment on the stool to the left of the bed. The Qunari's dusty gray skin was hot against his, the massive erection sliding between his spread ass cheeks; it teased his senses as it rubbed across his excited pink hole. The delicately wrought mage both moaned and shivered at the thought of how very large he knew his partner to be.

  
A cold metal circle was placed on the flat of his back, low enough that Bull was able to dip a digit in and trail the cooling ointment down the crack of his ass to slowly tease his anus open bit by bit. Easing past the tight ring of muscles with gentle care, sweeping deeper and deeper with each stroke. The cool glass vessel slipped slightly, distracting Dorian for a single second before the full to bursting sensation of another finger was added alongside the first. Dorian could not contain the loud, high moan that made Iron Bull laugh deep and rich. He began to ride the fingers inside him by pressing his shoulders into the bedding and pushing back onto them. Small sounds of pleasure filled the goose-down comforter with hisses and moans as he pressed his mouth tight into the cloth.  
Iron Bull allowed the mage to fuck himself on his erotically large fingers for a time before his other hand wrapped around Dorian's hipbone to still the his thrusting. Once Bull felt he had calmed himself enough, he reach forward to slick another finger before it inched its way in beside the index finger and middle finger of The Iron Bull's whole unblemished hand. The pressure had increased so much Dorian was panting, and that before Bull had even sunk it in to the second knuckle.

  
“Take your time Kadan, we have all night.” Bull whispered and he pumped his fingers in and out of his lover’s ass, achingly slow. He worked leisurely to get the tight ring of muscles to relax and accept the new width he had just introduced. Dorian's labored breath and hissing whines encouraged him with each spiraling thrust of his fingers.

  
Dorian tried twice to find his voice before it came out in gasps “Bull! … I ...I don't think...” Just as the last knuckle on Iron Bulls ring finger popped into the mage's slick, silken hole, all of Dorian' anal muscles clamped tight. The sleek ties around his wrists smoldered, hot and orange until they fell from the dead weight of his spent arms. A last wheezing shudder passed through his frame and his seed spurted out on the bedding in hot, hard gushes that left him drained.

  
Iron Bull held his Dorian's hip up as he jerked forward with each powerful jet of semen. It left him shaking and blurred the world in the soft haze of completion. The evidence of his lover’s enjoyment only fueled Bull’s ardor, his cock slapped against Dorian's rich, caramel colored thigh. With an unrefined grunt of approval Bull once again began thrusting his fingers in and out the tight, pink hole.

  
“That's right, easy now Kadan.” His whispered words tickled the back of the Tevinter's ear, cool against his sweating neck.

  
Dorian squirmed away from the nearly electric sensitivity of his plundered behind. Eventually the smooth slide of Bull’s callused fingers soothed away the lingering jolts of his orgasm. However it was slowly dawning on Dorian that to truly take his lover into him it would require more than even three of Iron Bull’s very large fingers to loosen him up enough to accept that meaty appendage. The problem he was having even accommodating most of his beloved’s digits without hints of true pain made him think that perhaps this might not work as well as they both longed for it to. They had spoken about having the correct lubrication, angles of entry and being properly prepared on more than one occasion, but the reality was overwhelming.

  
The sheer logistics of their vastly different sizes had made them come to an accord rather early on in regard to their sexual escapades, long before either had developed any notion of sentiment or romantic feelings. Besides Iron Bull’s insistence on a safe-word, they had also created an agreement about equality within their relationship. It mainly comprised of their difficulties with penetration, they acted in fairness to one another to avoid resentment. Until all the necessary details came to fruition and Bull could fully enjoy his lover, Dorian couldn't experience the Qunari in any fashion that was beyond Iron Bull’s own restrictions.

  
It has been so long, a year of pent up desire. They both wanted it so badly, to give into their deepest longings and satisfy each other in full. Plunging his cock into the ripe asshole of his lover over and over. The sensation of hot, soothing spirts of come filling his ass to bursting. How they both wanted to take each other’s body was not in question, it was how to do so safely. The wait was nearly over at last.

  
The exquisite feeling of the large, stroking fingers that had just caused Dorian to come harder than ever was satiating, Bull always granted him such pleasurable releases. Tonight was no different but the stimulation was beginning to burn and give sharp stinging moments of pain. Bull would need to loosen him up even further if this endeavor had any chance of working.

  
All these thoughts raced through the brilliant Tevinter's mind one by one in quick succession. The answer rung out in his head from one of the very first nights Bull and he had shared together. Bull leaning against the wall saying 'But for someone important to you, you give them what they need'. Dorian's throat muscles clenched and gulped as he pushed aside his doubts, he wants to give his lover everything he ever needs. Including this, for Bull he could endure a touch of pain. He gritted his teeth and pushed out with his anal muscles, as his very first lover had taught him to ease away the pain of that dark passage way. It helped… some.

  
The Iron Bull loved the feel his lover's channel, so smooth and tight, he couldn't even wiggle his fingers much at all. He panted and reached down to his own erection with his other hand, running his palm it over the sensitive hood again and again. Bull gripped his own member tightly and thrust his fingers in and out of Dorian's ass, in unison to the thrust of his own hips. He was near to bursting, it was beyond erotic that he would be finally be able to truly make love to this smaller human who already resided so deep in his heart.

  
Dorian could feel the feather light sensation of another digit lazily caressing the swollen rim of his stuffed hole, preparing to enter. The pressure slowly increased more and more, until a sudden sharp slip inwards had tears forming in his eyes and a yelp of stinging agony echoed in the loft. He instinctively drew away from the pain which only caused more of the same as he pulled his body forward and Bull's fingers were yanked out of his abused ass.

  
In that moment the word that he had never even considered using in the whole year they had been lovers fell from his gasping lips “Katoh! No more, please no more I simply can't!”  
“Shite! Fuck! Did I hurt you Kadan?”

  
Dorian rolled to his side, turning his back to Iron Bull and the evidence of his earlier pleasure. He held himself stiff until the worst of the searing pain subsided before he replied.  
“Unfortunately yes, Amatus,” Dorian shook his head slightly as he twisted his upper body backwards and lifted an ass cheek, to try and assess how hurt he really was. “Bull I hate to ask, but alas I am not enough of a contortionist to peer at my own butt. Can you see if I am bleeding?”

  
“Yes of course!” Bull's hands gently took the place of Dorian's as he leaned in to check. A thin, small line of blood seeped from his reddened hole. Iron Bull could feel the guilt as it crushed his chest, that small trail of red a glaring accusation, of his inability to control his strength. “Your... yes... very little.” He choked out of his clenched teeth.

  
“Ah… then I should be alright, I would simply hate to report to Mother Giselle in the infirmary, can you imagine the look on her face!”

  
“… Are you sure going to be alright? What happened? Did I use enough ointment? Was it too fast? Too rough?” Bull asked as he covered his eyes, his lips set in a grim line as he reached for the small cloth draped over the top of the stool. With a grimace he held out the cloth to Dorian. Bull was fairly certain that his beloved mage didn't want to be touched intimately again so soon by the very hands that hurt him. Dorian took it and ministered to the blood and ointment between his legs.

  
While the smaller man wiped away the red stain of his shameful over exuberance, Iron Bull fetched another drying cloth to clean off the bed-spread. After he finished his sticky chore, Iron Bull mutely waited for Dorian to lash out at him. To call him the monster he had behaved as.

  
“I am going to be okay you big oaf!” Dorian laughed, flashing Bull his dazzling smile as he carefully dabbed and cleaned himself up. He handed Iron Bull the cleaning cloth before he rolled over onto his back with his ankles crossed so he could look at Bull as they spoke. “Though to be brutally honest Bull, I would not care to repeat this ever. It was simply too much, too big. Bull, your penis, impressive as it is… well it is just too large for this, Amatus.”

  
The Iron Bull froze as his lover dredged up painful memories of a much younger Qunari who was far too big for his own hands and feet, always hurting others by accident until he grew into himself and achieved the physical level of awareness that made him an asset to the Qun.

  
Dorian's words hurt and before he could stop and think about it Bull shot back a biting remark. “All the women I have fucked over the years had never once complained I was too big! Every one of them screamed for more!” His nostrils flared in quick burning anger, but as soon as the words wrung out of his clinched teeth he wished to take them back. To have ever dared to hurt his beloved mage so, it was dumbfounding. His shoulder sank and he dejectedly hung his head. The used bits of cloth fell to the floor from his listless grasp.

  
The quick tempered Tevinter hissed in a breath before closing his eyes to hide the pain that Bull's words had caused. Dorian knew it from the start no one ever wanted him for himself and in the past he had indulged his lovers, changing a little for each of them. But, in this there was no changing, only another broken heart. “ Festus bei umo canavarum! Then perhaps you should go find a woman!” He whimpered on the edge of tears.

  
The loft quickly lost its romantic glow and took on a distinctive chill as the two jaded souls opened their eyes to look at each other. The shadows caused by the candles cast enough light to illuminate each man and the painful expressions they bore. The moment stretched on for what had seemed an eternity as they saw the pain etched on their bodies, their faces and their hearts.  
Dorian licked his lips silently and locked eyes with the Qunari still at the foot of their grand bed. His heart twisted violently from the thought that he would never hold his Bull in their bed again. He wetted his mouth again before he gathered the remaining pieces of his heart and held them out to Iron Bull. One last try, he said to himself silently. He would hate himself for a very long time if he didn't even try.

  
“I did not mean it, I… I love you… so much it hurts. It steals my breath in moments and fills me with happiness, please forgive me?” His voice hitched with concealed hope, it had none of its customary snide humor, only desperation and love.

  
Iron Bull’s mouth fell open slightly, he could find no words to worship the man laid out before him, so in silence and flickering candle light he crawled up onto the bed holding himself off the much smaller man. Dorian's magnificent eyes were wide and shinning as he leaned his head down and kissed the mage for all he was worth. Pouring all his love, all his pain, all of himself into that single moment and glory of all glory, the human lips softened before returning the kiss as well.

  
They drowned in each other, in this kiss. All teeth, tongue and hands, there was too much on the line to hold a single thing back. They kissed until their vision began dotting with specks of black. When they had to either breathe or risk passing out, they parted breathlessly and grinning. Dorian held Bull's damaged hand next to his head as Bull rolled off the much smaller man. They both lay on their backs, staring upwards lost in the emotional glow. Neither spoke for a long while, not wanting this moment to end. Connected physically only by the chain of their arms, hands and fingers.  
“I should not have said that, Dorian. It was wrong.” Bull said breaking the heavy silence. Dorian lifted his massive hand from between them and reverently he kissed each scared stump. Dorian rolled to his side facing Bull who still lay flat beside him so he could see his lover’s face. He slowly splayed his other elegant hand on Iron Bull's battle scared chest.

  
“I will forgive you, however everything comes with a price. If you forgive me you will earn your own forgiveness in return. Now aren't I a clever little Altus?” His cocky grin and tilt of his head assured Bull that Dorian was joking, but at the same time laying out his demands. He was never a good negotiator even with the Ben'hasrath training, so he did all he could and surrendered to Dorian's clever hands and even more clever mouth. When nimble fingers began to undo his eye patch, Iron Bull assisted him with his free hand before reclaiming his bejeweled article and placing it too on the stool at the side of the bed.

  
With tiny nips and licks Dorian traveled up Iron Bull's chest, neck and then his chin. Lastly he laid a tender kiss on his scared and missing eye. The butterfly light whisper of lips on the scared eyelid skin sent a small shiver throughout Bull's body. The Tevinter leaned back and sighed as he watched his Qunari mercenary through soft, half cloaked eyes before he leaned in closer and grinned.  
“What am I ever going to do with you?” The mustached sex-fiend intoned as he threw a leg over Iron Bull’s waist, to straddle the leering horned man.

“Well you can't return me, the Qun do not take returns, especially Tal'vashoth mercenaries that do not follow orders very well.” Bull announced from his pillowy prison as he laid his hands on Dorian's thighs holding his lover’s sweet ass in place despite his own flagging erection. Bull wanted him right there, claiming him just by the naked skin of their genitals pressed together.  
“Ha yes, that is something is it not?” Dorian leaned back cupping an elbow with one hand while the other slowly tapped on his chin, thinking. “Do not nug off and become angry, but my ill-considered comment might actually… just be the solution to our problem.”

  
“I suppose you have already plotted something so I might as well listen, because I cannot even think about another year without fucking someone, really fucking them.” He bounced his hips under the naked well-toned mage to demonstrate his point. “So I suppose you want me to screw some woman. Are we talking prostitutes, because I have had my fill of those. Unfortunately, I can also see you turning all green if I were to take some girl on the side.”

  
Waving his hand in the air as if there was some foul smell, Dorian shook his head. “You are right but no, nothing as pedestrian as that. How do you feel about a mas-a-trios?”

  
“A what?” Bull's honest confusion at his words made the Tevinter on top of him grin.

  
“It means, you, me and a lady friend of our choice. We do not all have to be romantically involved as well, but that would be my preference. Back home I have seen far too many children sired on a mistress and when it came to light the father would kick the woman out to fend for herself. There is so much wrong in this world and so few that want to help change it for the better. I will not be one of those men! If it was to happen in this imagined future of ours I would want to be a part of our children's lives, but I would never take the little nugglets from their mother.” Dorian declared his eyes bright in his face.

  
“Our children?” Bull inquired “I didn't know you wanted some. Uhh … well… You know those require a woman, right? The Qun do not have families, but I … I think I do too, Kadan.” Bull murmured the last few words with a small contented sigh escaping across his lips.

  
Dorian sniffed. “Yes I am well aware of the requirements. There are plenty of orphans because of the Mage and Templar war. But all of that is a Fade illusion. Children will have to wait until Corypheus is dead and every trace of him is gone. So for now we are just talking sex and companionship.”

  
Bull laughed, it rumbled in his chest and shook the mage perched precariously on top of him. “I guess you will have some demands right?”

  
The suave, naked Tevinter strummed his mustache as he replied. “Of course I do, my dear Kadan!”

 


	4. Red heads on the Buffet!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas, Iron Bull and Dorian finish breakfast, have Cole pop in for a bite and the Inquisitor makes her entrance.  
> caution discussion of child death.

Iron Bull caught Dorian's gaze for a moment before he began to speak. “Don’t think I forgot what we were originally talking about.” 

“Venhedis, fine let us negotiate who joins in our bed games out here in the open. Hmmm?” Dorian’s brow creased as he took another sip of the rather strong, black tea. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an elfy eyebrow twitch behind the book held in front of his Elvhen companions face. The fact that Solas was not as oblivious as he thought made Dorian’s mouth pucker as if he had sampled a sour fruit from his homeland. 

“Good! So about Vivienne I was thinking...” Bull began eagerly. 

“No” Dorian interrupted, setting his nearly empty tea cup on the long table. 

“What’s wrong with Vivienne? A fine mature women like her likely has quite a repertoire. Besides, she has great tits and that deliciously plump ass!” Bull stretched, and tilted his chair back onto two wooden legs. He crossed his legs at the ankle in one smooth motion and put his feet up on the table for balance. His face was carefully set in a neutral expression, clearly fortifying himself for what promised to be a long conversation. 

“That she may, but this thing you have going on with her this ... Tamassran like relationship, I think I think you called it? Quite frankly it’s a bit of a turn off, do not get me wrong. Seeing you subservient for a change would be appealing just not with her, it’s too… familial. Besides, I do not want anyone who has the potential to be better dressed than my-beautiful-self catching your eye, in or out of the loft. Not that I am admitting she is better dressed, mind you.” He looked at Bull from out of the corner of his eye, eyelashes sweeping his defined cheek. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“How about Flissa? I hear she has been serving the boys of the Inquisition in a very different way...” The Qunari said, not intimidated in the least by his lover's quick dismissal of his original nomination. Bull’s lips pulled into a tight grin, waiting for Dorian to respond. 

“And that Amatus is exactly why she is not going to ever ride the Bull. Do you understand me?” The Tevinter’s eyes became flinty and his waxed, manicured mustache all but bristled, each hair standing up with his distaste. 

“But red heads Dorian. RED heads!” Bull pleaded both hands in the air as if to grip some ephemeral dream of beauty. 

“No, you promised me that I had veto power in so far as to who joins us. No back talk, must I remind you? Besides there is another red head that is much more alluring in these frigid stone walls. Our lovely spymaster is quite enchanting and I am sure that she would perform with passion and gusto.” 

Bull’s mouth fell open and he sat up, righting the seat he was in. He cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. His eye flickered back and forth over the entire hall looking everywhere but at Dorian. “Umm well you see... ummm...” The large Qunari seemed to shrink in on himself as he leaned forwards closing the distance between them. From inches away, he finally lifted his eye to Dorian's calm brown gaze.  
“She... umm, she scares me.” He all but whispered, mouth too suddenly dry to make the words any louder. 

At first Dorian was filled with mirth that the three hundred pound Qunari male was afraid of the diminutive spymaster. Leliana could not weigh one hundred and fifty pounds in her full armor. Though she was a talented Bard in the Orlesian sense. He had seen one of her rare sparing matches with the Inquisitor. However she wasn't nearly as scary as the demons they all had faced down many times before. She was a sincerely impressive rogue to say the least. But that was not what shook his partner to the core. Her real power and strength came from secrets, information and the ruthlessness needed to use them. Her lengthy shadow could be felt as far away as Minrathous. Thinking of that aspect of her sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. 

He nodded to Bull in understanding, neither wanted to speak her name lest their idle chatter somehow got back to her. They both fell silent, under the corner of the table Iron Bull’s large hand sought Dorian’s. Once their hands meet and clasped they both sat straighter, gaining strength and an encompassing feeling of love through that small contact. Knowing the other was there for them no matter what may come, it was a comfort that warmed the lovers’ hearts. 

They held each other's hand secretly under the table for a few moments longer before they slowly let go. The hall was silent except for the quiet sounds of a quill on paper and once in a while the fluttery sound of a page being turned from the apostate next to them. From outside courtyard they could faintly hear sounds of the Seeker berating an apprentice. Past that the sounds of Skyhold were whipped away by the ever present icy winds. 

Trying to shake the fear from his partner’s mind Dorian took up the teasing tone of the conversation before 'she who will not be named' was regrettably brought up. 

“Since you have this fixation on red heads Bull, how would you feel about Dagna as a candidate? Surely all that time in the Calenhad lake tower studying has bottled up some rather manic passions? Think of what could just be waiting below that peach and cream colored skin. Simmering behind those incredible blue eyes…” 

“No not my Daffodil! My Cute Flower who blooms in the ever present snows, calling to your eyes with her purity and joy. Never!” Iron Bull's eye twinkled with mischief and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth thinking he had bested the Tevinter poet beside him. 

“Now Bull, that almost sounded like lyrical verses! Are you quiet certain of this? She is the last redhead in Skyhold after all.” Dorian’s masterful baiting brought a slight blush to the mercenary's cheek. Seeing that blush, he simply could not resist the urge to cause another to grace his scar riddled face. “Are you the defender of her flowery maiden head by chance? Protecting her from despoilment by the greedy hands of an unknown male?” 

Dorian's overly poetic speech had the desired result as a bright red flush crept up Iron Bull’s neck to settle on the Qunari's features. Dorian certainly hadn't expected that potent of a reaction from such an unabashed, unrepentant flirt. He puzzled over the powerful emotional display. Thinking about it, he had to admit The Iron Bull had been unusually off kilter all morning. 

An entirely different spontaneous thought popped into his head as it tickled his memory. This completely interrupted his ponderings about his lover’s odd reactions. 

“Do not tell me you bought her that frilly-cake monstrosity of a gown you were admiring in Val Royeaux? The one you proclaimed a fountain of all innocence.” Dorian made a fake gagging noise as he watched Bull’s face steadily becoming redder by the second as he spoke, even the base of his horns took on a pinkish hew. 

“Vishante Kaffas! You did! I can see it all over your face!” Dorian threw back his head as he laughed. 

The tough, gruff, jaded mercenary buried his face into his hands. His large, battle roughened hands made it difficult to hear him clearly as he mumbled. “Vashedan, but my Daffodil looks so pretty in it!”  
Dorian stopped laughing. He pondered this implication, absentmindedly smoothing his mustache. With how oddly reactive Bull had been this morning he decided to be magnanimous and tone down his teasing.  
The Altus turned in his chair before he asked more of his partner. “Bull, what is she to you? I mean if you...”Dorian trailed off as he watched Bull pulled his hands away from his face revealing a haunted expression on his beloved's face. 

The Iron Bull gradually sat up his back straight, with determination. He placed his hands flat onto the table, finger spread wide across the grainy wood as if to anchor himself to the table. He took a long, noisy breath through his broad nose and back out his parted mouth before answering. 

“Dorian I have told you how in the Qun we don't have families or anything?” Dorian nodded, his dark eyes inquisitively locking with Bull’s remaining metallic hued one. Bull took this as understanding and continued. 

“I do remember you mentioning it before.” 

“Well, you know kids have always been a soft spot for me and I had never meet a young, female dwarf before Dagna. I’d seen Harding at a distance on the Storm Coast but that doesn’t really count as meeting someone right? Of course I had met the Inquisitor but with that lush figure of hers there was no doubt at her age, those tits alone could kill a man.” Bull made a small, sweeping gesture with his fingers in the air between them, as if to trace her bountiful curves in all their glory. “I’ve met plenty of male Dwarves but there is no mistaking one of those hairy bastards for a kid.” 

Turning sheepish, Bull looked away momentarily from the mage so close to him. “Yeah… so I have always had this strange desire… 

“What do you mean by 'strange desire'?” Dorian could not hold back the interruption as he grimaced, his mind drifting far from pleasant thoughts. 

“Not like that!” Bull huffed, bristling at the implication, his bare shoulder muscles tensing from the indignation. “It’s nothing to do with THAT. Never. Ever to do with that.” 

Dorian bid him to continue with a tilt of his head. “I don’t know where it came from but one day I had this need to hold a baby. Strange right? So I knew this Tamasran; she and I would do a whole lot more talking then fucking during our sessions. She was one of the good ones. She had just been assigned a new baby girl to care for so ya know, I asked her. She said no at first but then I was about to be shipped out to a new location and she shows up at our meeting spot with this little, pink, squirming bundle. She carefully handed it to me. As I held that tiny mewing thing, something in me felt complete. She was so light in my hands, but filled that empty spot in side me.” A soft smile fell over Bull's lips, the memory of the cute, warm babe in his arms, but his joyful expression was quickly buried under a scowl of distant rage. 

“I boarded the dreadnaught that night. You have heard me talk about the poisoned bread right? Well that place inside me that had felt so good, felt worse than ever after those bastards poisoned the bread that those kids ate. I killed every one of those dathrasi tal vashoth, I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to.” Bull shook his head as to rid himself of the memory “Next time I went back home I saw that infant again, she was..I think around three? Seeing her smile made me stronger. Better than anything the re-educators ever did. So, I went back to where I was needed most. Back to fighting and killing. When I returned the last time I was shaken but not nearly as much as when I was told the kid had died of some twice blighted fever. A stupid thing that all kids get. My Tamasran friend tried to comfort me but nothing she said helped. That day I turned myself into the re-educators and The Iron Bull was born.” 

He trailed off for a moment. His eyes closed shut, taking deep, calming breaths. “When I walked into the forge and saw Dagna I thought she was a kid. Just some lost kid. She smiled at me with those big blue eyes and told me her name. I fell for her cuteness and she played along; I lead her all over Skyhold looking for her family. I held her tiny hand in mine and I felt good. Like I did before. It wasn't until the Inquisitor came up asking Arcanist Dagna if some of her armor was finished, that I knew.” Iron Bull groaned in embarrassment. 

“Before she returned to the undercroft Dagna told me she liked how I treated her. Like she was precious, special. Her father never treated her like that; he thought she was a trouble maker and a misfit for wanting to learn about magic. She left behind everything she ever knew to come to the surface. She had no-one. Then she joined the circle to study, where no one thought she was worth anything. She told me she wished she’d had a dad like me growing up. It was so easy to talk to her about these things. I told her about the Qun and families as I walked her back to her workshop. The next time we spoke she just ran up, hugged me and asked if she could call me papa. Said she put a lot of thought into it, who was I to say no?” 

“I do not know what to say Bull” Dorian murmured eyes glistening with un-shed tears. 

“Just say she is off the list and I will crush anyone who hurts her into a large bloody puddle.” Bull grinned at his own words. “Also she looks fucking adorable in that yellow dress, Kadan.” 

“Okay, I can agree to that.” Dorian tapped his long, nimble fingers on one of the bright well-polished buckles adorning his outfit. His mind returning to the observation from before. “I don't mean to pry Bull, but are you feeling okay? I mean you have just been...off today.” 

“I hoped you wouldn't notice. I couldn't get Krem out of bed early enough to beat the nervousness out of me this morning… Hey what about Krem? He is a 'real' man. A man but that has a woman’s body and that body has certain needs, right? I mean everyone has needs.” Iron Bull mused, sounding nearly jovial as he relaxed and leaned back into his chair as if the soul baring conversation moments ago never happened. His carefree mask slipping into place with practiced ease. 

Dorian shook his head at his lover’s words and smiled faintly. “Now, I understand how the Qun only have Tamassrans, to as you so crudely put it Pop your cork. Man or woman, is what I understand from our little chats about your homeland? Correct? That likely works out well for the most of the... what do you call them again... ah yes, Aqun-Athlok. Now I am sure that the Aqun-Athlok like Krem happily visit the Tamassrans, who are as I understand it all female, am I right?” Dorian paused a second and waited for Bull to nod, as he knew the burly Qunari would. 

The resident Qunari mercenary captain shook his head side to side in embarrassment, his large horns emphasizing the motion. “Oh ya...You got me there.” 

The mage winked at his lover. “Now maybe you can answer a question that just came to me? What do the Aqun-Athlok that are 'real' women to do for a bit of fun?” 

Bull opened his mouth to say something then closed it once more. His sweeping brow furled in thought before he opened both his hands palms up and shrugged in defeat. “Hadn’t really thought about it.” 

Dorian laughed, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Besides all that, my dear Bull, I do believe you have not been paying enough attention to your First. This is grand! Right under your mighty Ben-Hassrath nose. I just cannot believe you missed it!” Dorian's laugh had dissolved into what could only be described as a masculine giggle fit by any of those who could overhear. 

Iron Bull groaned as he rolled his lone eye. He folded his arms over his broad, harnessed chest before declaring loudly “What is it you think I missed?” 

“Certainly you would not miss that your First lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi is be-smitten with that rag doll of an archer living upstairs in Herald's Rest, would you? Hmm that might just make it easier for drunken trysts, as well. Though I do hope he insists that Sera has at least a bath first.” Dorian snark-ed in his own good humored way. 

The Iron Bull's mouth fell agape slightly and his eye widened as his brain connected little details in his memory. “So that night when Krem had an entire drunken regiment of Chargers singing that Sera Never Was song, was what? Him, serenading her?” 

Dorian puckered his lips, the corners rising despite his best effort. “Well, he did write it for her after all! Maryden actually begged Krem to teach it to her, rowdy songs like that cause a mighty thirst. Then Cabbot sells more swill which makes more money, so her share of the silvers at the end of the night is bigger. I am sure, despite the subject, it will become a hit in every bar across Thedas in no time. Though I think you were escorting the Inquisitor out to some blighted corner of wilderness that even the Maker never touched, the night in question.” He paused, thoughtfully cupping an elbow and tapping his chin before he continued. 

“I do not know for certain that they have consummated their infatuation yet. Which I am sure Sera would announce to all of Skyhold once it happens or maybe just to those that frequent the Tavern. Strangest thing, she actually came to me to talk about Krem yesterday after we returned. She thought since he and I both refuse the preferred roles society places on us that I might be able to tell her about what she might be get herself into... if she said yes. She emphasized ‘if’ quite a bit, perhaps too much?” A wide grin decorated the cinnamon tinted mage's vestige. His very white teeth made all the brighter against his warm skin and dark facial hair. 

“Ahhug,” Bull suddenly scrambled to pull off his eye patch, and then held it gingerly by the strap between two rough gray fingers. “I thought she was going to use it in archery practice. If I had known she intended too...uhhh... I should have asked her why she wanted to borrow it!” 

Dorian cocked his head sideways in a questioning manner. His eyes darted from Bull’s face to the smooth metal inside of the eye patch that slowly swung in the air and then back to his partner’s face, which was carefully left blank. 

Iron Bull sighed and set it down on the table, his shoulders slumping. “It was my favorite one too!” 

“And there is a rational reason for you to doubt her... use of it? Pertaining to our conversation perhaps?” Dorian laced his fingers together in a steeple that continued down to where his elbows rested on the wooden table. 

Bull pulled out the soft fabric eye patch that had served as his emergency replacement many times before and donned it with a grimace. He then looked at the decorative metal eye patch on the table with palatable distaste. “I am going to have to wash that, twice.” he began, one large gray hand rose to rub is neck for a moment before continuing “A few years ago I overheard Krem telling his sexual partner for that campaign, that he had a thing for me, well not exactly as much me … as the eye patch.” He nodded to himself. “Krem wouldn't open his door this morning, telling me to just go away. So I thought hey he drank his fair share last night, sleep it off. I left. Then just before I came back to get you for breakfast, Sera found me on the way to our loft and returned it with one dragon-sized smile.” 

“Ah I see where you are going with this, and I'd rather not.” Dorian quipped, his smile a devious one. “So how do you fancy either Dalish or Skinner, two mages are always more exciting than one!” 

“Nah you don't sleep around in the company, kinda like you don’t piss in the tankard you drink from. I expect the Chargers to abide by it so I have to lead by example.” Bull said as he tucked away his desecrated metal eye-patch into a pouch at his waist. 

“I think you mean you don’t piss in the pond you drink from, but back to topic. You were willing to invite Krem?” Dorian asked as he raised his eyebrow in inquiry.  
“Why would I want to drink water when there is good ale to be had? Well… Krem is different. The Chargers all know I lost my eye saving his sorry ass; he didn’t even buy me dinner first!” his smile was at first full of merriment then it began to falter before returning to his mask of neutrality. “Look, when you lose an eye for someone it changes your relationship, and the boys respect that.” Bull shrugged deeply, before reaching forward for a second serving of biscuits. 

Dorian copied him without realizing it until the fluffy pastry-like biscuit was on a small plate in front of him. He glared at the tantalizing temptation before he began to methodically and deliberately to tear it into pieces. He had found, long before today that just pieces were far less appetizing than the mouthwatering temptation of a whole biscuit. Besides, the destroyed or half eaten leftovers were sent to the pig boy to feed the sows that fed the castle. So in this way he justified the wanton destruction of at least one biscuit nearly every morning. His deliberate wastefulness would be a boon to those ill-fated creatures. 

Bull watched this ritual sacrifice take place next to him with a small bemused smile on his face. “Well, that leaves only two real possibilities; Scout Harding and Cassandra.” 

Dorian looked up from the small mound of soon-to-be swine feed, and paused to think about it. His creased brow and closed eyes displayed the depth at which he considered the options, Bull was pleased to note his honest consideration. 

“Harding has been hanging out, right outside the tavern window, where she has this perfect view of my chest. Sometimes I even flex them individually to see if I can shock her. But that woman is unshakable, think she would like the manacles I swiped from the Val Royeaux prison when we went to 'get' … Blac... Tom Black out?” 

“I honestly do not know. I suppose she would be acceptable in that girl-on-the-farm way. She does have a very wicked sense of humor when she and the Inquisitor get to talking. I believe her first name is Lace, am I correct Bull?” The Tevinter asked but continued on without waiting for a reply. “I even think she might clean up quite well. That long auburn hair would look marvelous against some of that periwinkle lace; I have a whole bolt of it after all. I got it off that caravan merchant that came through last week, it was dreadfully expensive but I had to have it! Ferelden's are so drab in their color choices and fashion in Orlais is currently all about heavy stiff fabric, dreadfully constrictive.” 

“So is that a yes on her then?” Iron Bull asked a twinkle of excitement in his eye. 

Dorian felt the Fade pull slightly before he heard the gentle whoosh of air that heralded Cole's appearance in the great hall. He manifested in the seat directly opposite of Dorian, hands bracing him forwards on the table. They had finally gotten him to stop appearing standing on top of tables and desks, finding someone suddenly seated with you was much easier on everyone’s nerves. In the end, it only took an extremely frazzled Josephine and a spilled bottle of gold print ink to finally convince him to desist the habit. 

“No! No, her love doesn’t feel like yours. Not silk and ropes and pleasured pain that glows for hours.” The spirit rushed through his words breathing heavily, the mimicked sensuality causing both Iron Bull and Dorian to stare. 

Solas did not even twitch, either he was a much more skilled actor then Dorian thought or he really had not been listening in on their not so discrete conversation. 

“Take a breath squirrely. What are you talking about?” Bull asked to the all but buzzing youth who joined the table. 

“No, you cannot have her; make her your lover, your doll, your third. She watches through the glass hoping, wanting, wishing. She doesn't watch The Iron Bull she watches above you. He makes her smile. He watches when they scout, the shine of her hair in the sun the sound of her laughter. He wants her too, but is afraid, shy, scared. He is scared by her, for her? And she is too? He wants to tell her how brave she is. And she wants to tell him she likes his father’s eyes in his face. They slant, sliding, silky darkness. Joining was scary, but she made it worth the danger… They could help each other, make each other happy. Dorian you said I could ask you questions. Why can't they talk to each other inside The Heralds Rest?” 

“Yes, Cole I did, but you do not have to ask permission every time you have a question for my delightful self. Hmm you’re not talking about that boy in the tavern, what is his name… Southland? Nooo, Sutherland? The cutie that is freelancing for Cullen, are you sure? No, you are sure or you wouldn't have popped in for this lovely little visit.” Dorian glanced at Bull then back at the spirit made young man. 

“You know Cole I am not entirely sure, however I do know it is not about the where. Herald’s Rest just happens to be where they are but back to the apex of your question. I believe fear of rejection might be the biggest reason people do not reach out to another. Though sometimes they just need a little push, at the right time and in the right place to take that last step. Perhaps Iron Bull and I can help you figure that part of it out for them?” The Altus smoothed his mustache absentmindedly. Unfortunately for him this unknowingly sprinkled biscuit crumbs into the wax he applied daily to keep his meticulous facial hair in its proper shape. 

“I would like that.” Cole replied, flashing them a fleeting smile from beneath the large brim of his hat. 

“Josephine.” Bull said around a mouthful of biscuit laden liberally with Jam. 

“No. She and Tom Black are whole, happy… the Inquisitor says I have to call him that now but that is not his name, not like Blackwall was. Blackwall was more real than Tom Black. Then the Nightingale made Blackwall but not Blackwall die. Maybe with enough time Tom Black will become real too?” The spirit pursed his lips and seemed distracted for a moment “Josie and Tom take late night walks on the battlements when they think no one can see them, but I can see them, because they make each other’s hearts happy. He calls her Josie like Leliana does.” He explained as he reached across the table to take a jam covered biscuit off Iron Bull’s plate. “Bull thinks that they taste like love, may I eat it so I can know what love tastes like?” 

Bull swallowed and washed down the mouthful with a goblet of watered wine, then nodded “Sure kid.” 

Dorian could have sworn that he caught a smile peeking out from behind the book that Solas still held up in front of his face; steadily he turned the page once more as Dorian stared out of the corner of his eye. 

He shrugged and refocused his attention on the spirit boy across from him, who did smile as he licked the last of the jam and crumbs off his fingers. 

“Love tastes good, sweet but a little sour, tangy, warm and buttery, light in your mouth but heavy in your stomach. Thank you The Iron Bull. Thank you Dorian. I...” Cole stopped, and tilted his head as if listening to some call far off in the distance, only, a call he alone could hear. He pulled on the Fade again and half a moment later was gone leaving the chair across the table once again empty. 

From the other end of the hall Varric's voice echoed slightly. “If that isn't the best description of love I have ever heard, well beside my own that is.” He laughed slightly to himself as he dipped his feather quill again before he returned to writing. 

“Bull I do believe you said he would not be able to hear us from there?” Dorian turned his mock sharp eyes on the mercenary who was finished the last bite of biscuit on his plate. 

“Well the Dwarf I have in the Chargers couldn't have.” Bull replied as he sighed in overly full contentment and placed a large gray hand on his nearly bare abdomen. 

“Do not compare me to that fossil you have working for you, Bull. With all the explosives he uses you’re lucky if he can hear at all!” The Dwarf mockingly yelled from the other end of the hall. 

Just then the door behind Bull crashed open and the Inquisitor stormed through arms gesturing wildly, living up to her name. 

“But Inquisitor this is the latest fashion from the Winter Palace! You must make a good impression if we are to survive the ball intact and more importantly the Game!” Josephine tried to calm the Inquisitor, her Antivan accent thick with the distress of the task before her. 

“Listen to me Josie, I will not say it again, no matter how many 'alterations'-” The small, busty redheaded dwarf emphasized the word in the air with her hands. “You do to that horrible frothy pink nightmare I will not wear it! I would rather walk in stark naked!” Tempest stepped forward aggressively, her body tight, angry, she stalked closer to the prudently retreating Josephine. 

“I understand, perhaps it was too much added... stress for you today. I will tell the Madam seamstress you will see her tomorrow … and the gown will be disposed of... yes we will just have to begin anew!” The paling Antivan sputtered as she rushed to close the door to the small inner hall that lead to her office. 

The Inquisitor stood stock still, she clenched and un-clenched her fists before, she once again lived up to her name as she quickly made her way to the door that lead to the tower that currently only held her quarters. She slammed the door loudly behind her, and from the other side everyone in the hall could hear her deafening scream tinted with frustration and rage. Then the vehement voice of the lady Herald of Andraste, Holy Inquisitor of the Inquisition began to rant. “ Nug sucking, darkspawn licking game and who in their blighted mind would think a dress needs seventeen layers of blasted PINK crinoline! Ohhhhh! How dare that pompous seamstress call me fat! Lay off the sweets, indeed? I understand I am no whispy elf or tall human but for a dwarf I am just fucking perfect!” The Inquisitor's words became fainter and fainter as did her thundering foot falls on each wooden step up the stairs. Dorian could just barely make out her continued tirade. “Manure in her snoody little hat... maybe Sera... Frack her!... or bees…Melon breasts indeed! Want to be paragon shite.” The sound of another door slamming reverberated throughout the hall. 

“Such a temper, and so much ardor!” Bull exclaimed as he clenched one large fist in the air. “She reminds me so much of the Seeker, when she goes on a rampage like that. She is just like that, all that fury, all that ferocity just under that scar-laced skin. Saved the best for last! Think she would want me to call her Seeker or Cassandra maybe Cass?” Satisfied, Bull leaned back in his chair and smiled. 

“Amatus, I thought she had already shot you down out in the Forbidden Oasis? Maker, someone needs to rename that blasted maze of sand and stone! I would rather return to the Storm Coast than visit that detestable sea of sand.” Dorian leaned forward, his head in his hands and elbows resting on the table top. The grand hall seemed to quiet in comparison to moments ago but faintly Dorian could make banging sounds from far above. The Inquisitor likely was still in a foul mood, if he was to make a guess. He used the palms of his hands to rub his drooping eyes. 

An even louder bang made him jump, startled by the Inquisitor as she strode back into the hall.

  
The tower door closed behind her as she slung her excursion pack over her armored shoulders. For a moment she stood on the dais, the sun streamed through the colored glass window, it set her in a dramatic colorful back light. For a brief second her hair in its high pony tail, fanned out behind her, her rogue style leathers tight across her generous bosom, the tails of her cloak streamed out around her tightly clad leather legs. Dorian and Iron Bull had always thought just her temper made her perfect for her name but in that instant she personified it. 

Inquisitor Tempest Cadash, herald of Andraste, rogue of the Dwarven carta scowled as she scanned the hall before she walked over to the table occupied by the completely engrossed apostate elf, the smarmy Tevinter Altus and the horned Mercenary captain. 

“Bull, Dorian, Solas, we leave within the candle mark. Grab your gear and meet me at the stables. I will have our mounts saddled and will hail a page to run for provisions and our tents.” She commanded, her voice held a flint edge that could cut down anyone, King, Empress, or just her three road weary friends. She turned away, true to her word she excessively flung open the door that lead down to the kitchen and slammed it shut behind her. Leaving those in the hall glad that her wrath was not aimed at them. 

Bull looked at Dorian and Dorian looked at Solas beside them, the lithe pointed eared mage sighed. “If she keeps this pace up, my friends, Corypheus will have nothing and no one left to destroy.”

 

“Chuckles there has a point, even a seasoned fighter like me needs time to catch his breath between battles. If she keeps pushing herself like this she will start making make mistakes and those will get her dead. Or everyone dead.” he huffed as he shook his head “Dorian, do you have any clue what is bothering her? I mean, you don't have to be a Ben Hasrath to see that she is stewing about something.” Bull took the last sip of his watered wine and set the goblet down with a thud as he rose to his feet. 

“I am sorry to say kadan, I haven't a clue, but I agree something must be, else she would not be pushing us all so hard. I suppose I must investigate, best friend duties and all, and besides, I need my beauty sleep. Have you seen these unattractive bags under my eyes?” Dorian whined, pushing his chair back in with his trademark flamboyant gestures. 

Solas closed the book he had been reading before he too stood. The slim tome tucked into an inner pocket of his robes. “Dorian as you know, I couldn't help but overhear your lamentable conversation. Be it vastly ill located. However, I may have a solution for both your personal problem and our shared one. I will be quick as we only have ten minutes or so to pack before another grueling mission. Our Inquisitor needs a way to relieve the stress of her position.” With that said the bald elf strode quickly away towards his temporary quarters in the rotunda, just off the main hall. 

Bull turned slightly toward Dorian. “Well that would be one hell of a way of removing that tension. The Qun has the right idea. It is a need, just like food.” He tilted his head to make eye contact with his human lover. “What do you think?” 

Dorian resumed his cupped elbow posture a thumb on his bottom lip. “I think we need more information first before we make our decision. However I concede that I can't help but see you two do have an excellent point, about the stewing I mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review! I need input. 
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos! You know who you are!


	5. Wine Bitter Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest, Solas, Dorian and Iron Bull are waylaid by a scout in the Storm Coast and a sunflower is endangered.

It was the third day since the party had eaten a hot meal.  
The fifth day since they left the Inquisition encampment on the beach, where they resupplied quickly without stopping.  
The sixth day since they’d last seen the Storm’s Solitude campsite upon arriving at the natural northern border.  
Seven days of being soaked to the bone by the never ending rains that drench the lands near the Storm Coast.  
Nine days had passed from when they left the smelly inn at Lake Calenhad far behind.  
Eleven days prior, the pack mule had been killed by a stray Sylvan, the demon-possessed tree took offense to the braying animal and they were forced to carry the supplies on their own backs.  
Fourteen days since an Inquisition runner had delivered a letter to Tempest from Lady Josephine which she promptly crumpled up and tossed in the fire, without reading.  
It was the fifteenth day since they crossed out of the aptly named Frostback Mountains and eighteen days since Tempest had stormed out of Skyhold with her party in tow.

Lastly, less than one hour since a courier from the southernmost Inquisition camp found them. He was a new recruit and Tempest could not remember his name though she herself had been there for his swearing in, he had made his oath on his knees before her. He was just one of many that day as the fealty oath was done in groups of dozens, silently each would come forward thump his fist to his own heart, then rejoin their unit. The signal according to Leliana once stood for the literal act expected by a traitor, when captured the ancient Nevarran would be expected to publicly stab himself through the heart, so that his family could retain some honor.

She was better with faces than she was with names, even more so now with the sheer size their army. When Cullen told her she didn’t have to be there for the mind numbing task, she told her Commander she had to do this, at least to honor their courage. Even knowing she had been there, she was unable to even say which unit he belonged to. The young man was covered in mud up to his elbows and knees. He was babbling, incomprehensibly, but one phrase stood out. “Scout Captain Harding! Mudslide!”

Tempest grabbed the lad by his damp hood and started to shake him, as if it would cause the tall boy to produce a better report then what he was currently blathering off. Those four words made her heart race in her chest, mudslide? Why? How? Where? Each question and accompanying shake was meet with only wide teary terror filled eyes and silence. If anyone was trapped each second could mean life or death, she had no time to coach him down from his fears.

“Hey Boss, why don't I try to get more out of him.” Bull said as he stepped carefully closer to the Inquisitor. Her ashen face and white-knuckled grip on the green recruit warned him of the danger that the little Dwarven rogue posed, if he surprised her in this state of mind. It hadn’t taken him long after he signed on to figure out the short redhead’s triggers, or more accurately to watch for the inevitable fight she would start. Once she loosened up about the whole Inquisition thing and they had shared a few drinks, he’d learned the whys.

“Now I do admit that it is a unique way to garner information, Inquisitor. However I believe Bull might get it out of him quicker, and with his neck unbroken.” Dorian grinned at his own pun as the Inquisitor continued to shake the poor recruit, ignoring both men.

“Inquisitor?” Solas said softly as he placed his hand on her heaving shoulder. “Tempest, if he were to speak as you are shaking him so, he would run the risk of biting off his own tongue, and if that were to happen we would never get the very information you seek.”

At some point during Solas' lecture Tempest calmed enough to stop thrashing the recruit about, whom if she was to tell the truth, was looking younger and younger. He couldn't be even fifteen years old, just a kid, all gawky limbed and thin as growing youths often were no matter how well-fed they might be. She released him with a curse, but did not offer any form of an apology. She couldn’t. Leliana had made it quite plain. To the troops, she needed to be more then she was, to make choices and never look back. Bull had even said something very similar back in Haven.

“Braska!” She cussed coarsely as she handed the boy off to Iron Bull. She turned around and sat on the log they had just climbed over moments ago as the Qunari mercenary took the kid off a few paces to talk to him quietly. He was so young, too young… What horrors had those innocent eyes seen… she began to muse just as Solas interrupted her.

“I wonder how old the boy is.” The apostate gestured with his chin in the direction Iron Bull had taken the scout.

“I do not know, but I intend to do something about it once we return to Skyhold. He is just a kid, he shouldn't even be here!” Tempest growled the words out and thumped her hand down onto the log.

“War makes old men of us all, Inquisitor.” Solas muttered in a distracted manner as his eyes began to gloss over with distant emotions and ghostly memories. Tempest knew that look very well, it was the same one she saw in the mirror, or in a still pond. She couldn't regret anything, not really, because it made her strong enough to lead the Inquisition. The Dwarven parable was that it took heat and one hell of a pounding to make a sharp sword. Tempest in her teenage years couldn’t help but add ‘Too much pounding and the blade is warped, too much heat and it shatters’. She still felt this was true, how much more heat could she take?

“Tempest, please or at least you can call me Cadash. The Inquisitor is someone who sits on that big old throne back in Skyhold. She is not really who I am, Inquisitor is what I do.” She turned her head and quietly looked up at the tall elven man.

“As you wish, Tempest.” He said nodding his bald head slightly in her direction.

A familiar pair of finely chiseled arms enveloped her as the log she sat upon creaked with more weight being added to it.

“… and here I thought that was my pet name for you. Now I will just have to find another one!” Dorian's whinny tone, jovial in its high pitched crescendo, made her wince and then laugh uproariously. “How do you feel about strawberries?” He continued to ask her as she wiped her eyes free of the tears the joke stirred loose.

“Hey Boss, we are going to want to get the details as we haul our asses over those hills. We have people trapped in what’s left of a Dwarven ruin. Mudslide. Scout Harding was trying to evacuate a family camped there for the night. She ran in there yelling about the stone?”

“Fuck!” Tempest surged to her feet and swung her pack over her shoulder in one fluid movement. In her haste she nearly tripped over a stone dislodged from the shale cliff nearby. The other members of the party all had a similar reaction to the news.

Tempest felt as if her head were full of angry bees. She couldn't even be sure of the direction they should travel other than farther south. She was vaguely aware of which way the last camp in the area was and that Scout Harding had been over-nighting there as her team ensured the darkspawn presence were properly taken care of. The problem with these sea side cliffs, though strikingly beautiful compared to the rest of the landscape, was that there were so many caves unaccounted for on the maps and few locals who knew the terrain any better. Lace's team of scouts were commissioned to take a topographic specialist to every niche in the bluffs they could find. They were not to engage the darkspawn themselves. Sutherland's group had proven themselves adept at purging that fiendish scourge and had been assigned to assist Harding’s scouts in that regard.

“Did you get the direction to the mudslide Bull?” She yelled over her shoulder as she made the way to the beach. The boy had come from that direction and there was no climbing the flinty incline in front of them. She felt sure in her direction at least that far.

“Yeah, Boss.” Bull intoned as he jogged to catch up to her and the mages trudging through the sand of low tide around the shale cliffs. The exhausted young man struggled to the front of the pack in an attempt to guide them. Tempest realized they didn't really need him to show them the way as soon as she set foot on the beach. The kid’s boot prints were still bold high on the sandy shoreline in his haste to find aid. However, she knew he needed to see this to the end, she could see it in his eyes and the determined set to his jaw. Besides, they would need every hand they could muster to attempt this rescue.

Their own prints were being washed away behind them as the waves crashed into the shore, even at low tide they had to jog single file around some of the high cliff’s outcroppings. The loose ocean sand swallowed their hurried feet. Bull seemed to have the worst time of it. His weight sunk him farther into the swirling silt than any of the others. Solas, in his elf-light frame, still dug into the sand but far less than even the next lightest party member.

It was slow going not only because of the sand itself but also because of what it hid, the sharp shells scraped skin and boots alike and the hidden rocks made them all trip at unexpected moments. The most dastardly hidden obstacle so far was the rotted deck boards of a completely entrenched ship, its mast lost, long ago ripped away by the waves. Iron Bull had the unfortunate luck to be the one who discovered the hidden vessel, when his foot crashed through the boards. Tempest knew she would be bruised from her knees down, and from the slight curse from behind, Solas' lithe toes fared no better. The silt sucked at both their boots and at their energy as they hurried along after the young scout.

“Solas, do you have a rejuvenation potion all mixed up for the kid?” She asked as she turned her mind inward in the attempt to plan for the best possible scenario and also the worst. The sound of a cork as it popped and the kid’s mumbled, “Thank you” was all the answer she needed.

Tempest was already too deep in thought to do much but quickly follow, bringing up the rear guard. Refreshed the scout picked up pace leading them around several more jutting cliffs that lined the sandy beach. She had been on a rescue team once for a cave-in and could only hope that lone experience and luck were enough. Gulls kiting in on the ocean breezes cawed in an annoying mock to her daunting troubles as she mentally worked around what little she knew about earthen instabilities. She almost wished she had joined her uncle and the other lyrium smugglers in the Cadash clan down into the Deep Roads. Maybe if she had, she would now have some of what the other Dwarves referred to as stone sense. They could just look at a cleft in the rock or a slope in the mountainside and discern much of its contents and stability. No use in wishing for what she didn't have though. Tempest sighed deeply and returned to methodically running through plans in her head.

Her lips moved wordlessly as she inspected, found fault with and dismissed plan after plan. Tempest knew they had little time but they simply were going the fastest they could in this terrain. They could save no one if they broke a leg here on the windswept shore.

She finally had several workable plans for nearly all the possible situations the mudslide might present, when the beach came to an abrupt halt in front of a suspiciously well maintained Dwarven ruin. One whose door was intact. That would have to be explored later, she promised herself. The scout motioned for them to turn left and go up the hillside. She climbed the incline, grateful to be out of the clinging ocean scent of rotting seaweed and the abrasive silty sand. It was not an odor she particularly enjoyed.

Within seconds they could all clearly make out the mudslide that would be their immediate challenge. The southern cliff had given way as the soil was saturated with more water then it could take. The river of earth was nearly devoid of visible debris and the brunt of its force was taken by a large set of boulders that the mud had turned into grey islands. Against the eastern cliff-side Tempest could clearly see the perfectly flat, blue stone of the ancient Dwarven architecture used in this region. Most of the slick dirt had settled against what was left of the southern cliff. A second set of boulders almost parallel to the first had received far less mud and other then in some places where the mud flowed between the boulders the stones made an unobstructed path up towards the cliff-side. More importantly it would get them within reach of that blue cap-stone.

“Thank whatever gods you believe in. It actually is not as bad as it could be.” She told them as she let out the unconscious breath she had been holding since they’d made it to the ruins.

Dorian whispered under his breath, “Maker keep them,” As he took in the size of the task before them, before he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Iron Bull came up behind him to place his hand on Dorian’s shoulder, both gaining a spark of hope from the small contact.

She gritted her teeth as she approached the very edge of the mudslide, where a sole blood lotus stood undisturbed. Even though she knew that the rare plant would be very useful for the Inquisition, she couldn’t simply reach out and snuff out that lone speck of life at the edge of the brown sea of chaos.

“Come on we will need to get onto those boulders from the northern side of this sludge. It would only waste our time to try to work at it from here.” She said as she pointed uphill to where a small patch of darker grass grew on the south slope of the neighboring prominence.

She led the way skirting around the mud and low shrubs and into the sparse trees, carving her own route for a bit before they hit on what was obviously the remnants of a well-worn path. They followed along that easily however it eventually turned to climb up the glossy green hillside. Once they left the path they found less foliage and much more loose stone and dirt that shifted under their boots. When they finally stood on almost the exact spot she had pointed to from the shore, what had looked to be a small first step up onto the boulders was actually a stone edifice that was about a hands width taller than her own head.  
The ascending trek allowed them all time to process the dire task and as she looked into the faces of each of her team she saw that no amount of earth or rock would stop them. She found confidence in the tilt of Solas’ eyebrows, determination in the tight line of Dorian’s mouth and hope shining from Iron Bull’s lone eye.

Tempest shucked her pack off her back with a thud and most of her gear followed. She kept a long rope and her belt of potions, as there was a distinct possibility that someone in there might be hurt.

“What’s the plan Boss?” Iron Bull said as he too unburdened his broad shoulders, but kept his greater maul. If he felt weary from carrying a larger portion of their supplies after the pack horse incident, he never let on. Tempest knew by the way he slightly stretched his neck to one side, he would seek her out later at camp as he had often done before. He claimed she was just the perfect weight to walk on his back, ‘just to get the kinks out’. The first time he had asked her to do it she thought it was some strange foot fetish, like a certain ‘unnamed’ noble who was paying her a yearly stipend for her silence. Bull asking her for that though sent her flying off to tell Dorian, who eventually straightened the misunderstanding out. Several days, three bottles of wine and a special chocolate and crème pastry later.

From where she stood Tempest’s keen eyes could barely see the rain washed Inquisition's banner over the top of the steep green knoll. “Alright, Scout umm errr…” She took a deep steadying breath as she looped the rope across her torso with a tight tug before continuing. “Scout… Kid just take our gear up to the camp, get it all set up for triage and start some sort of warm filling porridge or stew as well. Is there anyone else at all up there?”

“No, Inquisitor ma’m, Captain Harding had the main group go north along this river looking for the large cave you mentioned in your last report. She had us draw sticks for who stayed at camp to cook, scour the rust off armor and clean everyone's uniforms. She’s the best leader, she never asks anyone to do what she would not to do herself… She and I stayed to do camp duty. She … I do not know how she knew to evacuate that family. One minute I was scrubbing the pans and the next she...”

“Alright I get it. There will be no back up.” She impatiently interrupted. “Look, they only have so much air in there so we have got to do this quickly, if they are still alive.”

The kid snapped to attention at her reprimand before immediately reaching for Solas’ much abused yellow pack. Even at the all knees and elbows phase this kid was at, he towered over her meager height. But, just a few cross words from her had him scrambling to do as asked. He settled on wearing a pack on his front and another on his back. His legs shook under the weight, yet he began to reach for her pack intending to carry all three at once. Shaking her head side to side in mild irritation, her hair cast off small drops of sweat as she stepped between the Kid and her gear.

Solas saw the impending chastisement in the tightened line of Tempest’s lips and placed a comforting hand on the young scout’s shoulder effectively stopping him. “You will be of little help, if you became injured because you overburdened yourself.”

A large gray hand slapped down on the teenager’s other shoulder causing him to jump, his eyes wide and face instantly paler. “Yeah Kid, quick is good, safe is better and don’t worry about Harding. She has pulled through tougher situations than this. In the Chargers we have a saying ‘you can’t mourn anyone till you have their body in front of you and ale in hand.’ It’s worked well for us.”

The young blond human smile a small tense flash of teeth at the massive horned Qunari, before muttering a ‘yes sirs’ and ducking out from under both respective hands. With an almost inaudible ‘yes ma’m’ he began his hike up the slope to the camp, his knees still wobbled under the weight.

“Iron Bull either you have some reports you haven’t shared with me or you just made that Kid one hell of a cow paddy.” Tempest quipped with a sideways look at the mercenary captain. She ignored the Tevinter groaning at her jest with a roll of her eyes as she looked for a crevices to give her a hand or foothold to scale the first boulder in front of her.

“How long you been waiting to use that one, Boss?”

“Hmmm, oh the cow paddy? Back when you first told me about Tamassrans popping corks back in Haven. I only have the excuse of not knowing you well back then and the perfect opportunity never came back up.”

Iron Bull snorted as he began to laugh but was stopped short by Dorian walking up beside him and slapping his bare chest with the back of his hand. “If you two are quiet done with the bodily function jokes we have a mission, people to save, things to do you know?”

Tempest nodded her head sharply at her team as she stepped forward and after a few carefully placed hand hold swung herself up onto the first of many boulders. ‘When you are small the whole world looks big.’ She thought to herself and began to scale her way to where she could just see the top of the Dwarven ruin, the blue stone like a signpost in the slimy earth.

“We shouldn’t need to jump over the mud flows if we are careful and get on top of this stone here.” She said as she skirted around a mud filled ditch where two large boulders meet a third. It was slow going at points because of the slick mud atop rain washed stones, but eventually the entire party was all but within touching distance of the Dwarven ruin.

Carefully Tempest made her way out on top of the blue stone ledge, making sure to leave all the space she could for her larger companion to stand beside her. Iron Bull side stepped deftly out on to the ledge beside her, unfortunately this didn’t leave much room for maneuverability. Gritting her teeth she swiftly un-looped the rope from over her head and passed it to Iron Bull.

“Bull, tie the end of this around your waist, we are going to use you as a counter weight and if need be a pulley. Let’s hope they are not too injured. If so then you will also need to carry them out of here one by one. Solas, Dorian, see how the rock juts out just there?” She pointed to a rain slick outcropping a few feet from where they stood. A small hop up and both the mages would have a good vantage point.

“I want you two there. Dorian, I want you to cast whatever fire spell you can sustain long enough to dry as much of this mess as you can. Solas, once you think an area here at the top is dry enough use that lifting spell you do, lift out a secure tunnel. Then we can hopefully drop the rope down into it for them to climb up. Let’s just hope they somehow were up under this ledge and survived and that they are not somehow...”

She closed her eyes to stop herself from saying the word. There were already so many lives on her soul, forever staining it. She didn't know if she could stand it if a friend’s life were to be added to that dark place in her mind. Harding was more than just a scout to her. She was Tempest's first friend back when she was 'recruited' to the Inquisition. She had never been alone with so many humans before and if asked, she could honestly say it all came down to height. The ability to look someone in the eyes makes a big difference. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as the mages carefully made their way over to the spot she’d indicated. Beside her, Iron Bull was making one last knot along the length of the rope to make it easier for the survivors to climb up and escape to safety.

Bull caught her watching his strong and surprisingly dexterous hands make the final knot and grinned at her, his teeth very white against his dusky skin. “Don't worry Boss. We have faced much worse than a little mud before.”

“It’s not the mud I am worried about.” She shot back with a small grin of her own, but quickly lapsed back into silence.

“Inquisitor we are ready when you are.” Dorian quipped from across the gulf.

“You two have enough lyrium potions to make it through this mess?” She held up her hands and shook her head at her own blunder. “Never mind, stupid question. Just make them last as long as you two can.”

On her command Dorian began super heating the mud just a foot or two ahead of her. It had her almost instantly too hot in her damp leather armor, turning the trapped moisture into steam. The mud, it seemed, was more tenacious. At first it looked as if it was doing nothing, but then the outer skin of the slick earth began to crease. Cracks ran across it in all directions. That circle of concentrated magical fire ceased just long enough for Iron Bull to swing his big maul, using its powerful force to break a chunk off and for Solas to lift the debris up and away. She trusted each person on her people to decide what to do when and they trusted her to come up with the general plan of thing, in times like this it was a fact she was extremely grateful for.

Their smooth teamwork made the repetition of breaking through the dried mud move along quickly until they hit an unexpected snag. From where she stood Tempest could see that the next time Bull went to dislodge a dirt-clod using his maul that he might get a shocking reverberation from the handle hitting the very brink of the blue ledge they stood on. “Stop for a second everyone. Solas, I think we are going to need you to climb down with the rope and use that stone fist spell to dig down farther.”

“Yes, though I do not believe the tunnel will be as stable, however it will be safe enough. Time is not our ally here, Inquisitor.”

“Good, let’s get too it!” The Storm Coast must be taking pity on her because the near constant rain let up as Solas stole over the magically dried rocks. A vial shattered in his wake, after he downed the lyrium it contained, as the only sign of his passing. With a strange, mischievous smile he unexpectedly stepped out onto the dried and cracked surface of the mudslide. Tempest gasped then glared at the apostate elf, but she stored away that anger for later. His recklessness would have to be addressed at a better time, when lives didn't hang in the balance. He carefully traversed across its ridges until he could reach out and take the end of the rope. With his staff out of its sling in one hand and the rope in the other he jumped down into the hole.

“Dorian, if you could, cast your next spell between my shield aura under my feet and the mud, constricting your 'fire wall' spell into that area. What we require is a constant spinning disk of fire that you will need to keep feeding your mana into until we break through. I hypothesize that it would be the most efficient way to finish this rescue as quick as possible.” Solas said calmly as he knotted his end of the rope around his waist.

Tempest raised her fore arm to shield her eyes from the white hot light that suddenly shot out of the tunnel. How Solas could even see she had no idea, however the loud stone on stone sounds the dried mud made were testament that he either didn't need to see or somehow planned for that eventuality. Time was punctuated by the noise that the apostate elf in the tunnel rhythmically made, eventually the rain returned and swept itself inland over the cliffs and through the sparse trees that did little to shield them from the watery menace.

A loud crack and a sudden tug on the rope were all the notice they needed for Dorian to stop casting and for Bull to brace himself.

“Inquisitor,” Her title echoed slightly as it made its way up the tunnel.

“What does it look like down there Solas?” Tempest called back, getting down on her knees out on the dry mud to try and peer into the dark cavern. The danger of the tunnel caving in from her weight though slim still danced in the back of her mind as she tried to peer through the dusty gloom.

“We must hurry this opening will not hold long. I am sending them up. I will have to tie the rope about Harding and guide her way up myself.” Her lips thinned at his reply, either Lace was unconscious or unconscious and hurt. If how Solas chose his words were anything to go by, otherwise she could guide or climb up on her own.

From her kneeling position she would be able to help the family get up out of the tunnel and onto the ledge safely. The blue precipice was about to get very crowded, and Tempest had to hope no one stepped on her by accident. The survivors would have to wait for Iron Bull to move forward a bit for them to clamber out onto the boulders one by one.

“Bull, once the civilians are out you are going to have to hoist Solas and Harding up, so get ready.” Tempest's firm voice commanded as she returned to watching the rope. It began to swing slightly as the survivors made their assent. Far quicker then she would have thought she saw a well-tanned arm pull itself upwards on the last knot of the rope. She flung out her arm as the first victim felt around the opening for a way to haul themselves up out of the tunnel. A warm, firm masculine hand clasped her arm as she leaned back, pulling hard to help him up.

Subjectively, he was an attractive older man in the same way Dorian was handsome, dark and striking. Tempest chastised herself for the observation as she motioned for him to get back and she leaned down to grasp another dusty set of arms. Three back-breakingly heavy humans later, she reached down and grasped the rope to start pulling Solas and Lace up while Bull stepped aside for the family. Her arms and back burned as she pulled the rope up hand over hand.

Over the background noise of the wind and rain she could barely hear Dorian chattering to the survivors as he guided them down the boulders and up to the shelter of the camp at the top of the hill.

She jerked back as the weight of the rope was removed from her hands. Bull had completely taken over the labor of pulling their friend and scout master out of the deep tunnel below. Tempest's arms ached and her breath came out in heavy pants as she slipped by the Qunari mercenary and scrambled over the rocks. Solas and Bull would need the extra space to maneuver the unconscious woman out of the freshly cut hole. Even the apostate elf's slim body would have him nearly shoulder to shoulder with the large Qunari trying to pass the inert Dwarven form into Iron Bull’s strong grey arms.

The only reason Tempest had not been bumping into Bull was her height was below his top-heavy center of mass. While she did have to admit his immense shoulders had a certain appeal to her, he was the second half of her best friend. Dorian deserved whatever slice of happiness he could find. She just had to do her best to wash the image of his dripping wet muscles from her mind. Lucky enough the rain slick boulders she was clambering down from required her utter concentration, and then the relatively small and shallow edge of the mud slide had her nearly falling into it head first, further distracted her. The sturdy Dwarven boots that had gripped the rocks so well did little good as she slipped in the shallow brown slurry while she trudged her way through it out onto the grassy rock filled hillside.

“Andraste's flaming cunt! These boots were new! Damn it to the void!” Tempest swore as she looked down at the dark streaks and flecks that covered the tops of her feet and trailed up her calves. The falsely ordained Herald of Andraste flinched and peered around reflexively for anyone who might have overheard her. She took a few calming breaths, and stretched her sore arms up above her head in an effort to ease the aching muscles. Truthfully she didn't even believe in the human Maker god, she couldn't trust blindly like others did. Her faith was long ago destroyed by the hard metal indifference of Templar swords and nauseating Chantry rhetoric.

How could any loving god sanction the slaughter of so many in the exalted marches that ravaged Thedas over and over? How could anyone justify the theft of the lands promised to the elves by Andraste's very own lips? How could the Chantry call all men beloved children of The Maker and then tell those few who are born mages that they and their magic were abominations. That their Maker given powers were too dangerous to ever let them live normal, happy and most of all free lives. That the Maker cares for all his creations, as long as they are humans, all others are not welcome in the Chantry. Even those in need of aid or comfort. There were so many other reasons, but it all came down to the simple fact that if he was real then he just didn't care. Look no further than all the innocents who died hungry, cold, and alone.

The Inquisitor kicked several small rocks down the incline as she calmed herself and waited for Bull to hop down the boulders with scout Lace Harding in his mud speckled arms. However the first face to clear the rain washed boulders happened to be accompanied by a set of pointed ears and the expression on it made her heart race.

“Solas…how hurt is she?” Tempest asked, her churning emotions swept up her imagination along for a wild fearful ride. Would she bear witness to Lace’s brave reassuring smiles despite the pain that lurked behind her eyes? Or would see her friend’s cold form draped limply over Iron Bull’s arms? So much could have happened to her, so many ways in which death would be a mercy and a blessing.

The tall elf ignored her question as he jumped spryly down beside her before popping the cap off a lyrium potion with the flick of his thumb and downed the salty, bitter contents. His eyes shone bright for a moment under the effect of the lyrium, she briefly wondered why Dorian's eyes didn't react the same way to the potions. Perhaps, it was simply an elf thing, she admittedly hadn't had much contact with elf mages. The elves in the Carta, back in the Free Marches tended to be rogues; purse string cutters, assassins, poison specialists, artificers of all branches even an archer or two sure. However, she had never personally meet the few well respected mages in her family's operation. She never would either, not after Haven, and definitely not after she received a letter about a week after returning from the Fallow Mire. It was from the leader of the Cadash carta, her grandmother. The letter let her know in every way that she was dead to the Cadash clan. Tempest had attempted to speak with Josie about the political ramifications of keeping the clan name or changing it, instead the ambassador had ambushed her with that unspeakable pink monstrosity.

“Inquisitor, we must hurry!” Solas yelled over his shoulder, interrupting her silent musing as he streaked ahead toward the hill top camp. Solas was not one to overreact. If he said something was amiss, it was. Trusting his judgment, Tempest darted after him, albeit a bit slower. There was a distinct advantage that being an elf with long elf legs made verse short Dwarven limbs.

“Dorian is in Danger! Assassins.” Was all he said as he came to a stop behind the last big boulder in a direct path from the mudslide to the camp. They both stuck their heads around the boulder, his above hers trying to make out details inside the canvas tents from their hidden vantage point. His whispered, his lyrium-laced breath was wonderfully chilling on her overly hot ear. The brief run after the climbing, which was after an even longer sprint in sand no less, had made her nearly steam inside her dusky leathers. The brooding clouds over head released torrents of water as clap after clap of thunder rang out. She silently thanked the storm for both the obscuring darkness and the coolness it brought her underneath her well-padded armor. The padding could go, if you asked her, all it did was hinder her movements and overheat her when she exerted herself. Which was several times a day. If they lived through the next few moments she promised herself a new set. Perhaps, something in dragonhide, in grey-blue maybe.

Nodding mutely to Solas in understanding of the urgency, answers to who, how, and why could be discussed later when the lives of their people no longer hung in the balance. Tempest was profusely grateful for the new leg harnesses Leliana had designed for her. The release mechanism would actually spring the hilts into her palms at the flip of a recessed switch. If she hadn’t had the new locking harness she might have been tempted to leave them with her gear instead of the risk of losing one of the matched pair to a bog-ish demise. Flipping the switch Tempest quickly released her daggers from the sheaths high on her thighs while she peered around the edge of the large stone. There were two of the large Inquisition tents lit up from the inside, shadows danced against the canvas.

Her lips traced out a quiet thanks to Commander Cullen for his insistence that everyone in her inner circle be well and thoroughly trained for any eventuality, including hostage situations. Just like they now found themselves in. They had each practiced as the hostage and as the rescue party to the vast amusement of Cullen's soldiers who volunteered to be the mock captors. One of the things he'd drilled into them was the need for signals that mimicked the local wildlife. There was plenty of fennec roaming these hills to make the four quick yips she let out seem innocuous to whoever these assassins were.

Tempest held her breath as seconds passed by without the four responding 'I am alive' yips. Her eyes sought out Solas' in hope that his superior hearing had caught the return signal. He shook his head side to side as the rain washed down his face unimpeded by hair or hood. Licking her lips, she scoped her face around the corner of the rock and repeated the signal. Tempest felt Iron Bull's large hand come to rest on her shoulder, and when she turned her face to his she could make out the stark fear in his eyes. Iron Bull's grip on his weapon was tight enough to make the knuckles whiten, just as he opened his mouth to speak the awaited four yips came back from the camp. All three sighed in relief they were alive and knew of the danger now, if they hadn't before.

They didn't have to wait for the following message yips. They were high and meant to sound like baby fennec's calling for their mother. It was unfortunate that Dorian's attempts had never quiet sounded right, but the message was clear enough. 'All fine, alone'. If the yips were not enough of a hint to what tent they occupied, the smart aleck Tevinter stood and began to make obscene shadow puppetry against the canvas with what had to be a loaf of bread or one huge root vegetable.

Tempest turned away from the smarmy display at Iron Bull’s repeated taps on her shoulder. With a panache worthy of a showman Bull flipped back the edge of his cloak to show her the rosy pink face of scout Harding nestled against his shoulder. Relief swept through her body in a tingling wave that left a strange sense joy in its wake.

The euphoria of finding Lace alive and relatively well made the scene Dorian provided even funnier. So much so that Tempest was on the losing end of an onslaught of giggles. With one hand over her own mouth, she used the other to motion for details about Harding’s condition.

“She passed back out when I set her dislocated shoulder, the leg is pretty bad though Boss.” Bull said as he unclasp the cloak from around his neck and swaddled the much smaller woman in it. He made sure to flip the bottom of the cloak underneath the dwarf’s backside and to slip the loose braided ends of her disheveled hair into the hood as he pulled that up over her head. With considerate care he placed her on the ground reclining against the rock they all hid behind.

“Ideas?” She whispered to her rain drenched posse as she leaned her tense back against the solid unyielding stone, still trying not to laugh. Solas was still wheezing soundlessly in laughter, bent over with his bald head nearly between his knees. Both Tempest and Iron Bull looked from the unusual old elf’s display of humor back to each other, shrugged and grinned widely.

“What do you think Bull?” The Inquisitor asked, giving the chortling elf another moment to compose himself.

“Boss, what if Chuckles and I here walk in all normal like then make a scene somehow? While your Inquisitorial-queen-rogueness here sneaks around the back of our guest's tent and drops it on 'em? Best way I can see us taking one alive to interrogate.” The Qunari said as he sheathed his maul down his back in one smooth motion.

Tempest thought it over for a few moments, her fingers tapping on the stone behind her. “Alright, but be careful.”


	6. Death of a Cinnamon Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning a Minor, child character death.

It was actually disconcerting for Tempest to see how well they donned the cloak of infirmity. Iron Bull sheathed his long maul smoothly, but Solas kept his staff in hand. However, with the addition of a slouch and his other hand splayed across his back, no one would assume it was anything but a prized walking stick for an old elf. She knew Iron Bull was a Ben Hassrath spy but to see Solas assume an identity that looked as if a stiff breeze could knock him over, was by far worse. She could easily envision how he had evaded the Templars all these years, the unassuming guise he wore allowed their eyes to slide over him. Bull deftly removed the sopping wet cloak from her back without a word and slung the drenched garment about his broad, bulky shoulders. Not only was it too short on his large frame, and besides the fact it was splattered in mud almost halfway up, he then pulled the sodden hood up between his horns. It was a pathetic attempt to keep the rain off his head, or at least it would look like it.

Gone was the bristling energy they both had before and in its place stood two water logged, foot sore, hobos who wanted nothing more than a bowl of stew and a dry cot. The seasoned fighter's posture had completely changed in just moments and it sent shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

Tempest shook off the unease that had crept into her mind as she prepared her daggers with the poison. She had made it the last time they were in Skyhold. The two stepped out from behind the rock and trudged up to the hill top camp slowly. They dragged their feet to give Tempest enough time to dart from one well saturated bush to another equally inundated bit of shrubbery. As she made her way around to the rear of the second tent. In the first tent she could make out the distinct laughter of one Dorian Pavus and the nervous chuckle of what she assumed was the Boy who led them here.

No sooner had she placed a dark gloved hand on the center guideline rope than Bull and Solas walked into the encampment. Iron Bull began to complain loudly about the weather to anyone within a half mile, and Solas wordlessly limped alongside him leaning heavily on his staff. Tempest was prepared with a dagger in each hand to cut the two lines nearest to her simultaneously, when the tent flap opened and the youngest assassin stepped out, securing it behind him.

Solas took the moment to slip into Dorian's tent while Bull made grand boasts to the young assassin, which Tempest couldn't quite figure out the meaning of. That is if there was one, it was hard to know sometimes with Iron Bull. She took a deep steadying breath and settled back into the low crouch over the support rope. She waited, counting in her mind for how long it took Dorian to gear back up and exit the tent. Her thrumming heart beat spread the adrenaline to every nerve in her body as she held herself perfectly still, prepared for the coming fight.

Finally, from around the corner of the tent she spotted the sharp blue sea silk cloak Dorian treasured before it was obscured by the sweeping flash of the young scout's cloak as he stepped in front of the handsome mage.

Her wrists swept in an arch, slicing through the ropes with ease due to the sharpness of her blades and the tension in the ropes. The canvas fell forward, trapping the other two assassins under its water-heavy weight. Even before she had begun to pick her way around the cloth edges she began to smell an oily, burning odor and her eyes darted back to the canvas trap. Two bright circles appeared on the cloth, they grew brighter and larger by the instant. She jumped back, hollering at the top of her lungs to warn her team in the center of the camp. “MAGE!”

As the Inquisitor hurled herself backwards in the air. She could make out the apprentice assassin reaching to the small of his back before Bull’s forearm violently collided with his head and he was flung to the side, a second reeling blow struck him as the young assassin tried to recover. Only to crash into the Kid scout, the momentum sent both youths to the ground. The slick grass had them slipping and sliding as they tried to right themselves before the other.

No sooner had her feet touched the ground when the first of Dorian's explosive fire spells rocked the camp. He let his fiery magics loose on the two assassins as they were trying to climb out the canvas hole they created with fire and blade. They screamed in agony as the flames burnt and blistered the skin, their wails only lasted for a heartbeat before Solas' ice spell froze them in place.

Tempest sprinted around the fallen canvas until she was stopped in place by their faces, blue glacial ice shimmering like a tasteless gemstone. What lay inside held no beauty. Open maw, screaming away their last breath with their heads tossed back at unnatural angles. The Inquisitor found her throat suddenly dry and a pinch of nausea began in her stomach. She was unable to turn her gaze away from these deaths. She owed them that much, to remember that they were people not nameless enemies, not faceless.

But, it was their eyes that would haunt her. The skin of their eyelids crinkled like under done bacon, lashes and brows burnt away by the first licks of white hot flame. She could still hear their screams echoing her mind, but their eyes, those she peered into trying to weigh their Judgment by that gaze alone. The brown orbs stared back full of hate, zealotry and accusation. Tempest could find no hint of goodness in them, she had learned long ago that the eyes were more than the window to the soul. They were a mirror of ones intentions.

These grotesque ice statues reminded her sharply of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the smoldering dead frozen forever by the explosion she somehow lived through. She suddenly found she had to look away to stop the rolling of her stomach. To her, she felt as if she stood there staring at them for hours, but she logically knew it had been less than a few seconds and the fight was not yet won. The mantle of the Inquisitor slipped firmly in place, like a well-worn mask. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before she stepped aside with a slight bow to Bull. Though her companions had this fight well in hand, she kept her daggers out and ready.

The Iron Bull bellowed as he charged the iced assassins. The sound of their frozen bodies shattering pulled her eyes back to what was left of the fight. The huge Qunari had completely fractured the female mage into small crystalized chunks and shards but the male assassin had been missed mostly. In one hand he still held his stiletto up, immobile in his glacial prison, but his other arm lay in frosty pieces. The dismembered fist still clutched his other dagger. His legs were intact, holding him in the crouching position he had attempted to use.

Tempest cocked her head slightly to Solas. “How much longer will he stay frozen?”

“Only a few moments more I fear, Inquisitor.” He replied staff at the ready.

Iron Bull's charge carried him down the sharp slope and it would take the bulky warrior some time to climb back up or to come back around using the small trail the many feet of their forces here in the Storm Coast had made. The rain let up into a soft sprinkle as they waited to see if Bull would make it back in time. With the sharp lift of his chin Solas let Tempest know the spell was waning.

Calmly, without much feeling, Tempest slowly stepped forward. Her Dwarven stature had her tippy toeing so she was face to face with what was left of the man she had briefly thought handsome. His deep brown eyes with pupils ringed in gold, the strong firm jaw, the teasing tilt of his high cheekbones. She didn't know what their plan had been, but if he was sent to seduce and kill her he just might have done so. Just as the ice began to tremble, she slowly placed her blades over the large arteries on each side of his neck. She steeled her eyes waiting for the last bit of ice to break before she would slit his throat, he would bleed out before his head would meet the ground under him.

A quick death. Much more than he likely deserved, he brought death for coin. He was a murder for hire. Killing was his job.

A small creeping thought nearly made her miss the crucial instant she was waiting for. It rang in her mind as she sliced his throat on both sides all the way up to his ears. It roared in her thoughts as his blood sprayed her face and flooded her armor in a red wave. It was all she could hear when his body lay at her feet.  
'So do you.’

Solas' bare feet whispered across the bent grasses of the well-trod camp as he walked up beside her. He stood with her, silently watching the gushing beats of the man's heart pushing out the last of his lifeblood. It saturated the canvas and drizzled down around their feet. Tempest watched with sick fascination as it stained the pale elf's toes and spread in a growing puddle. If Solas was disturbed by the assassin's blood seeping between his digits and tracing around the arch of each foot, he didn't let on. All he did was soundlessly hold the bloody vigil with her. Solas' superior hearing must have alerted him to something as he suddenly looked up, Tempest tensed as she quickly followed his gaze. The heightened awareness that came with battle, even one short as this, still sung along every nerve. However it was not needed now.

“Boss when we going to have a real battle?” Bull asked jovially as he trudged along the muddy trail to stop beside them, panting slightly from the climb. “Hey what's with those faces? I mean the old man here always looks like this but who died?”

“Who?” Tempest shook her head slightly “I don't know his name.” She said under her breath as her gaze was drawn like a lode stone to the man at her feet. She crinkled her brow at the disturbing thought as she repeated “I don't know his name.” Something about the phrase resounded in her mind as she murmured it to herself a third time. The spark blazed THE BOY!

“Bull where is the scout?” She asked quickly, her eyes alert and full of unnamed urgency.

“The scout? I left her back at the boulder...” Bull began before Tempest interjected by reaching up, grabbing his harness and shaking the horned mountain of Qunari man. “No the Boy! The Kid!” A shiver of foresight danced down her spine as she spun around and scanned the empty camp.

She never really believed her Gran when the white haired matriarch of the family claimed precognition in one of her many tales of adventure, but now she knew. She just knew. The looming panic caused her to look again, harder. She noticed an area of flattened grasses that was neither of the two marked paths into or out of the temporary outpost. In her haste to follow the trail she nearly slipped and fell several times.

Her head down to carefully watch the trail she sped directly into Dorian. Who stabilized her with his warm embrace. When she tried to side step him and continue to follow the crushed grasses, he tightened his arms around her.

The golden trill of Dorian's smooth speech washed over her, making her look up, into his red rimmed eyes. “Tempest… no.”

“But I don't know his name.” Was all she could croak out of her fear tightened throat. She ran her blood stained fingers through her short, strawberry-blond forelocks before she ducked under his arms and ran the last few feet to the armored body that made a distinct lump halfway down the slope.

She fell to her knees. In shock the Inquisitor dropped her daggers beside her as her fingers found buckles and straps frantically, peeling away the hard shell that should have protected him until she exposed the red tunic he wore underneath. There was so much blood. It was everywhere!

Using a blade she grabbed blindly, Tempest quickly cutting away the shirt, looking for the wound. Using her other hand she tossed back the newly made flaps to stare uncomprehendingly at the channel that was above his left nipple. The blood merely pooled around it, not spurting or gushing. A warm tan body wrapped around her own as she sought to calm the riot in her mind. Dorian's perfume drifted around them both, but it was far too light to cover the sharp tang of blood. Manicured hands pried away the dagger she held tightly in her grip, but not before she came to the shocked conclusion it wasn't one of hers.

The smell of vomit was sharp in her nostrils. Dorian got her standing and walking a few paces forward before she stopped mid-stride to stare at the slim form hunched over with both arms wrapped around the trunk of a tree as if Thedas itself was shaking under his feet. Dorian patted her arm and cautiously strode towards the young man who was dry heaving beneath the boughs.

“You never killed anyone before have you?” Dorian asked, his tone dry and hard without a touch of teasing or warmth.

The would be assassin began to nod over and over as he answered. “It was an accident I, he I didn't mean to … I was just trying to stand back up before him, I … I was scared.” He finally said, the tone in his speech spoke of his broken innocence. The world would never be the same for him ever again.

Tempest couldn't help but to remember the first time she had ever killed someone, she hadn't meant to either. Some fool kid had tried to rob her at knife point. Her, the oldest granddaughter of the matriarch of the Cadash Carta. She had disarmed him easily enough. He had been more hungry than smart. He rushed her, thinking her height meant she was young and would be frightened easily. She was frightened, she froze and he barreled into his own blade. She tried to help him but he died leaving her alone in the darkened cut-through with his emaciated body. She had cut away his shirt too, she remembered. She could have counted every rib he possessed. His clothes equally spoke of desperation. They were threadbare, repeatedly repaired and stained beyond recognition of a single color. He likely thought attacking and robbing her was his only choice... He was so young, too young to die.

She didn't know what made her do it, but she reached out to the boy, not with a weapon but a comforting hand and a forgiving look. He jerked back slightly as she approached him, the flaring Anchor she mused belatedly. He knelt in front of her with a wet squelching thud, his head to his chest and his arms limp at his sides. Even on his knees the lanky teen was still taller than her, so she placed her hand gently on his bony shoulder awkwardly.

“I forgive you, but actions speak louder than anything else. I do not even know his name, but I know he had to really believe in the Inquisition and the work we are doing to even be here. So for starters,… follow us,… join the Inquisition,… and if he has any family you should write them a letter… Nothing… will make it any better for them. They may never forgive you, but maybe if you tell them about your life,… before and… after,…they might understand.” She spoke to him between short sharp gasps for air that had her fending off Dorian so she could finish. Her limbs shook slightly as she turned to walk back up slope.

“Deep breaths lovely, that's right, breathe in deep and let it all out. Now that's my girl.” He whispered to her as she limply followed his guidance up the slope. All the way back up to the camp he gentally held her hand, but not slack enough to make her to feel lost. Eventually he seated her beside the warmth of a simmering stew pot under the open ended mess tent the survey crew had set up. While she had been down the slope someone had cleaned up, Tempest noticed as she glanced around the camp.

Her eyes flitted over the young man huddled onto himself, as far away from her as he could get while still being under the canvas canopy. Why did this one death affect her like this? She silently pondered as she watched Bull carry Lace up the hill to the small outpost from her vantage point. Scout Harding was taken directly into the well-lit tent across from where Tempest sat, waving slightly with her left arm, her dominant arm cradled to her chest.

Tempest was surprised suddenly when she realized she had been crying, silent tears left warm wet trails over her cheeks. Her eyes were gritty, each drop seemed to calm her like they were liquid sadness and she simply ran dry. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she stood. She watched both mages enter the tent after Iron Bull exited to make room for those who could do her the best healing wise.

He held the flap for both smaller men before he dropped it and strode over to Tempest and sat on one of the two other benches that ringed the hearth. “Wanna talk about it Boss?" He asked with no preamble the moment his ass touched the smooth wooden bench.

“No.” She replied firmly before she shrugged his concerned hand off her shoulder and strode away. Solas must have left the bit of tent canvas she spotted in the grass for the young scout’s body, she snagged it from the ground. Tempest steeled herself as she walked back down to his childlike corpse. She unconsciously ground her teeth together as she dwelt on that, for her there was nothing that should ever put those two words together.

Standing like that over his prone form, with another man's blood coating her body, made her doubt herself and the Inquisition. But as the green glow of her marked hand closed around his upper arm, she knew who to really blame. She avowed she would make him pay for this kid's death, and all the other deaths he caused, and all the pain he had wrought. She would kill his dark-spawn ass in the most painful way she could, she vowed to herself as she wrapped his body in the canvas.

Tempest braced her legs wide apart, and tested if she could carry his body by herself. When the pugnacious Inquisitor found she could do so easily, another year of age fell off in her estimation. There was no way to know his real age at this moment, but he could barely be a scrawny fourteen, if she was even any good at guessing the vintage of human children. Scout Harding would eventually be called to explain herself for having allowed a fourteen year old boy to sneak his way into the ranks and if Lace didn't know outright she should have at least suspected. Then penned a special report! Tempest also wanted to speak with Leliana on how to prevent this in the future, she knew that the dragon lady had spies everywhere, especially inside Skyhold. This would not happen again.

With his armor on, she would not likely have been able to hoist him over her shoulder. Once all the heavy armor was removed regard, she carried him down the slope. The anger burning inside her grew with each time she found someone who failed this child even back to before he joined the Inquisition. She raged blackly about made up merchants along the way that just must have seen him! About parents who were negligent even if they were dead by not looking to the worst possible future for the boy. Each person she named along the way, herself included, fueled that dark rage that drove each step she took. First those in sand then those in mud, lastly those that took her up and over boulders she had already set foot upon today. She found her rope right where she thought she would. Solas having discarded it in his haste to save Dorian from the assassins. He had left it on the ledge above the hole down into the Dwarven ruin.

“You will rest soon.” She whispered hoarsely to the boy as she lay him down beside her. Her hands quickly knotted the rope into a harness around the corpse's tightly wrapped form. Tempest sighed loudly before she checked the ropes for a third time. She had done many hard things in the past, but even walking out of the Chantry to her certain death in Haven had been easy in comparison to what she was duty bound to do now. It was more than being the Inquisitor or The Herald of Andraste that made this her duty, it was because he was a child who never should have died the way he did. That all the adults in his short life had failed him and she couldn't fail him again.

His still form beside her prompted her to speak, that's what people did when they buried others they spoke about the life that person led, but she didn't even know his name. “You... you were brave, braver than most grown men. You wanted to stand up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. You were likely Andrastian so as the Herald.” Her voice broke. “Your Herald, you would have liked me to say something from the chant right? But to tell the truth I don't even know a verse of it. I do not even know if I am the Herald.” She shook her head at her folly, but couldn't help but add, “And I promise tomorrow I will have the boys seal this mass above you so the animals won’t get to your body, and... after I ask Harding your name I will come back with a chisel and put your name on this ledge. Don't tell anyone... you know surface dwarf and all.” She led off lamely.

The sun was just beginning to set and the shadows had turned long somehow while she spoke making the hole a dark portal to the beyond. She couldn't bring herself to lower him into that void as he was. It was illogical, she knew he was dead and he couldn't see the inky shadows, to be frightened of it. Maybe it was her who was really afraid of this darkness she decided as she took off her insignia scarf and tied it around his head.

a little

“The all seeing eye of the Inquisition will peer into the dark for you.” She said breathlessly to him as she lowered The Boy into the pitch black below.


	7. Do not eat the mud pies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan has been initiated!
> 
>  
> 
> Caution: Blood, mud and emotional breakdowns.

She had no way to close the tunnel up until morning and tears began anew. Just a trickle at first ran down her cheeks, accompanied by the sniff of her nose. They once again reached a steady stream that clouded her vision as she traversed the slippery stones. With one misplaced footstep, she was sent careening into the mud-slick between two boulders. Sharp, white-hot pain made her gasp and then loudly curse, stringing foul epaulets together into one long word. Her foot had wedged itself in the corner between the firm rocks now surrounding her. If it hadn’t she would have been neck high in mud. This way she was thankfully only waist deep in the slimy, brown goo. With a pained groan she began to feel around in the near darkness for a ledge or handhold that would enable her to haul herself out of the mire. Eventually she found one and with overexerted, strained back and arm muscles she dislodged herself with a disgusting slurping sound.

She laid back on the stone for a few moments panting and wincing as she tried to catch her breath before she sat up to examine her throbbing joint. With deft and careful fingers she palpated her ankle through the thin leather. Every touch had her flinching in pain but no telltale grinding of bone on bone. Luck hadn’t completely abandoned her it seemed. Neither had the mud been too deep to get herself out of nor did her ankle seem to be broken. She needed to get the tightly laced boot off before she could really assess the damages and she couldn’t do that here. Besides that, there was not even enough light to make out her boot clearly. The ocean mist obscured the night further and further until not even the stars nor the ever-present moon shone through the dark clouds above.

“Okay Tempest, one… two… three, up I go.” She girded her courage to put her full weight on the painful limb as she stood and began the squelching limp back to camp. After the first few stumbling steps across the rocky incline Tempest realized she would need to think this out a little better. Each footfall sent a sharp, shooting pain from her ankle up into her lower back. She could feel her blood rising as the frustration of her situation made itself abundantly clear. She had only made it a few more yards before she found a boulder small enough to sit and take a small break, yet she was panting and sweating as if she had just repeated the race along the sands from earlier that day.

The mud encrusted Inquisitor huddled in her wet leathers, rocking slightly back and forth from the pain on her stony perch. A small growl escaped her lips as she pondered her options. She could attempt to get to the trees and hope to find a stick strong enough to aid her up the hill or she would have to muster her way through the pain unaided. Raising her tormented eyes to the tree-line Tempest tried to estimate how far it would take her off the semi-beaten path and how much effort she would waste returning to it. Even if she did try to, she would be navigating blind in just over knee-deep grasses not to mention there was no guarantee of downed bits of wood. She shook her head slightly as she amended the thought to ‘highly’ unlikely because of the presence of the Inquisition camp nearby and she was in no condition to climb or hop to obtain a stick to use. That decided it, she would just have to bite her lip until it bled and take that hill!

A small fire of determination and desperation lit in her pensive blue eyes as she stood once more using whatever that came to hand to aid her struggle for balance and drive. She concentrated on placing her feet one in front of the other over and over again. Eventually her hand came to rest on the boulder her team had hidden behind during Dorian’s dick gargling escapade, but the pain held her so in thrall that she was unable to even smile as she slumped against its rain slick surface. This was the last coverage between her and the camp. Likewise she noticed it would be the final aid or succor she would receive before she reached the top of the hill. There were no helpful bits of stumps nor any usefully sized stones, just her, mud and the incline that grew steeper as she neared the summit.

Squaring her shoulders she pushed away from the boulder and resumed her trek. The rain had turned the path slick under-step and with her injured leg Tempest felt as if she slid back a few inches for every foot she gained. The mud sucked at her boots with loud a glop and her heartbeat sounded out a like a drum in her chest, gaining tempo with each labored stride. Eventually she crested the peak, but by this point each time she set her injured foot down and placed weight on it a small gasp of pain escaped her unusually red lips. The struggle up had caused her a fair amount of pain and frustration. Eventually she began envisioning each stretch of muddy path in front of her being her enemies’ faces. At first the strong-willed woman took a small sliver of pleasure of stomping their faces. She started with Corypheus’ and worked her way down to the chamber maid that called her fat by the time she reached the pinnacle of her climb. Each step was fueled by the pit of fury that boiled inside her within. That dark place that that never emptied, where she shoved every slight, every atrocity she had ever seen or heard of. The sour and bitter emotion always inside her ready to burst out with the thinnest prick of injustice. It was that rage that took her the last few steps into the camp.

The campfire was barely a smoldering pile of ash and gave no warmth to her tormented spirit. There were more tents alit then could possibly house her meager crew and by the stack of freshly dirtied bowls it seemed that the rest of the survey crew had returned in her absence. She took two small hops intending to join Harding in the medical tent, but a throaty murmur and slowly undulating shadows atop the cot deterred her steps, leaving her standing out in the open center of the temporary settlement. The sky chose that moment to rip open with thunder and lightning arcing between rain heavy clouds. The torrent that came down upon her drenched what little skin left that was dry. Rain, mud and blood ran off her leather armor in rivers but clung stubbornly to her pale skin in gritty blobs.

That was it. That was all she could take. Her mind shattered out from underneath her, dropping her entire being into that oubliette of raw emotions inside her. All her wrath, all her pain came pouring from her throat in earth rending screams one after the other. Her shrieks and curses were nearly completely drowned out by the awesome tempest that slammed into the Storm Coast. The rain brought drafts of salty sea water to sting her eyes and she let the fearful tears of helplessness to a cruel fate wash them out. She began scrubbing at every inch of exposed skin trying to rid herself of her guilt, of the frenzy inside her, of it all. Straps of leather thong that held her armor on were snapped under her crazed hands as she tried to free herself from the outward evidence of it all, the rescue, the kid, the Inquisition. Every last painful memory. She flung each article of armor and clothing with all her strength until she stood naked under the onslaught of the storm.

The water pounded down on her until at last her skin was clean and her temper subsided to whimpers and hiccups. She wrapped her trembling arms about her bare breasts and huddled. She at last made her painful way to the little red tent she claimed for herself. This tent was all she had left from her life before, before Inquisitor, before Herald, before Haven, before the Conclave, before her grandmother decided she was useful, from when she was just Tempest.

…  
Though he would never admit it to anyone other than Dorian, his heart ached as he watched Tempest drag herself back into camp through the unfastened opening of their temporary home. He hadn’t meant to spy on her initially, he had just came back from getting a fresh-ish loaf of bread from the mess-bivouac, set it down and then turned to close the split when he spotted her. He was transfixed by the mourning she wore so openly. Her tears indistinguishable to him through the rain, the way her shoulders shook and the open mouth screams were what told him she was sobbing. But her eyes, the way they flashed, spoke of a deep seated rage. A rage like he had never seen before. It was a blow that held him immobile, it scared him for her and for the fate of Thedas. In the Qun they had emotions and taking care of them down to such a science that he was startled to see her have such a breakdown. The Qun took it all into account as a basic need and prevented this type of display so much it was simply rare to witness it.

“Hey Dorian? You might want to see this.” Iron Bull held the soggy tent flap open a little more for a distinctly disinterested Dorian to peer out into the torrential downpour from underneath the protective layers of his canvas covered arm.

“Are we sure the Boss isn’t a mage? She sure the looks like one right now.”

Dorian turned around in their spacious pavilion from where he was unloading their traveling packs with his spare robes in hand. Leisurely he hung the garment over a drying line he had strung for that exact use, to dry out overnight and padded over barefoot to see what Bull was referring to.

“Of course I am. Dwarves can’t be a...” Dorian’s quip abruptly stopped as he bit his tongue watching Tempest out in the storm. Her rage was palatable in the air and the very thunder seemed to answer her ragged cries. Lightning danced along the outside of the rift-green barrier surrounding her. Tempest didn’t even seem aware of its presence as she began tossing her armor off until she stood naked under the pounding rain and punishing winds that seemed to come at her bidding. “…Mage.”

Both men considered themselves brave, but neither could move as the watched her frenzied cleansing and listened to her heart wrenching cries. They were her friends but they were helpless to go to her aid, not while the strange magic held sway. It was if the power of the Fade was leaking through the Inquisitor and creating a miasma, right there in the middle of the encampment. The wild intensity of the storm died out slowly as the powerful woman at the center began to quiet. Then with a silent pop felt by any mage within the surrounding coastline, the magic was sucked back into the Fade from whence it came. She stood there, sluiced clean by the storm. The last watery rivets ran between her large breasts and down the flat plane of her stomach. Her coppery red braid hung wet down her back and buttocks to dangle dripping just below the plump cheeks. Her curvy hips and legs were dotted with sparking drops of water that shimmered under the dual moon light that broke through the dwindling clouds. A light sprinkle fell on the head of the retreating womanly figure and she walked limping and nude into her tent.

“We have to do something, I need to go to her.” Dorian sputtered, wide-eyed as he began ransacking the tent in search of his boots, cloak and some of the liquid fire Bull always kept in a flask of. For emergencies only, the Qunari had claimed, justifying the throat-numbing liquid. “This is what Envy meant. This is the power it really wanted.”

“Hold it.” Bull ordered, sitting down in front of the closed tent entrance with concern and confusion warring across his features. “Envy, as in the demon you all killed at Therinfal Redoubt? The thing pretending to be the Lord Seeker.” Iron Bull didn’t ask the last. Rather he said it with a sinking sense of certainty and dawning of understanding. Eyebrows raised, Bull’s eye followed the unusually pale mage as he fluttered from one drying pile of gear to the next. Dorian’s normal care regarding his grooming items was discarded. He tossed his unneeded shaving kit to one side of the tent in frustration as he searched for the medical kit and his only dry cloak left rolled up around it. Iron Bull watched the worry and fear roll off his lover in waves as he got more and more irritated in his search. When Dorian finally found the leather bag that had somehow remained sealed and dry, a short dry laugh escaped him. Dorian found his velvet lined cloak with little rifling but stopped mid-reach in his search for the wide linen strip he kept rolled up with the other medical bandages. His brown eyes were stricken, and bare shoulders slumped forward with a sadness radiating from his very being.

“I am afraid. Bull. She is my very first real friend, she makes me so much more than myself and now something is wrong. I do not even have the littlest hint as to what it could be. I just don’t know, Amatus. We do not understand the power of the mark at all. I need Skyhold’s library. I may even be forced to consult Solas, as much as I might loath to. But for tonight I am going to be her friend, soothe her soul, play healer and get her very, very drunk.” Bull held out one large arm and limply Dorian allowed Bull pull him down to his knees into his much larger frame. Tucking his head on top of the dark tresses gently, Bull wrapped his warm arms around the shuddering mage. Dorian’s shivering was all from the heart and not from the cold or rain Iron Bull knew but he hoped to convey warmth through his embrace.

“The first thing we need Kadan is calm, her little firework show is over and we have some time to think. Let me tell you what I know, then if you think it is still about Envy you can tell me. She wouldn’t want you to keep her secret if it meant something that could endanger us all.” Pausing to adjust his legs Bull settled his lover back within his embrace. “I knew this young Barriasad once, who got promoted to captain of a unit. A lot of us thought he was too young, too inexperienced. Then on almost his very first mission he lost every single warrior in his ranks. He completed the mission though, by the skin of his horns. So they kept him in command. Over and over he completed the most dangerous and difficult missions, but the losses kept piling up. He stopped sleeping and his hair went white from the building pressure. He refused to see the Tamassrans, he couldn’t let go of all the stress that fueled him forward. He started do really dangerous stuff, but his skills kept getting deadlier. He got to this point where he charged at the head of his team butt naked! Eventually all us captains got together and locked him in with this sweet little thing of a Tamassran for a couple days. When we finally let him out he was so relaxed that we had to slap him around till he sobered up. All solved. I don’t know all of what went on in there… but the time and care seemed to have done the job.”

Dorian chuckled slightly under his breath. “It’s always about sex with you, so you think one good fuck and what we just witnessed will just go away? The Fade and the lightning? I don’t even know where to start to fix this. Dwarves cannot be mages. They have no connection to the Fade.” Dorian fretted as he cupped his elbow letting the fingers on his free hand delicately drum on his pursed lips.

“No, not one fuck, but it can’t hurt. Where would you start if she was a human mage?” Bull said as he released Dorian and watched the man rummage around their tent for a few more items he was looking for.

“Where is the maraas-lok, I know you brought a flask along. Never mind, I found it. Always in the last place you look.” Dorian said as he took a large swig of the bright amber colored liquor. With a shrug and a second pull of the sweet spicy drink he visibly began to regain his drive and spunk.

“You’re stalling, Sparkler.” Bull murmured soothingly as he left the tent flap to stretch out on his blessedly dry bedding. He would have to remember to thank Dorian later for heating it.

“I … well… I would observe and catalog the symptoms, I would give it time. Some magical maladies are known to resolve themselves. I would consult experts. I would ensure the patient is well rested, in good health and … free of stress.” Dorian said as he finished shoving his sleeping roll in on top of the other supplies he might need for the night. Bull could not help the grin that slowly spread across his face.

“Don’t you dare say anything, or I will spread the nastiest little rumor about your nug sized nipples.” Dorian shot over his shoulder as stood and he strode to the pavilion’s exit. With a flourish worthy of the stage the Tevinter mage settled the cloak about his shoulders and flipped the hood over his mussed hair. A heavy sigh fell from Iron Bull’s gray lips as he watched his lover prepare to leave for the night.

Dorian stopped with tent flap in one hand and his pack in the other, his silhouette framed by the darkness of the of the overcast and drizzling night sky. “Do you really think that will help?”

“What? Sex? What doesn’t it help. If you’re asking all serious, ya when you lead sometimes you just need your cork popped to let off a little steam. Keeps everything in its place.”

“I do not know if you’re right about this. If it is just about the stress, but if we remove every symptom one by one all that is left is the real problem. I will do anything to help her, to ensure she never becomes what Envy wanted. Even if it means sharing you with her, Bull.” Dorian tossed back his head, laughing slightly. “Two nugs with one net! Do not go getting all excited just yet, I am going to need one blighter of a plan to convince her and maybe some accomplices.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so tough for me, when I wrote it my family had suffered a young loss and this helped and hurt. It helped so very much so. 
> 
> Potent wasn't it? Emotionally wrenching? Did I make anyone cry? This chapter or the last?
> 
> Don't worry more smutt is on the way to save the day!


	8. Peach flavored Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW read with caution  
> F/M unresolved tension.

Inquisition icons and markers scattered to the stone floor with a musical metal chime. Cullen’s hard muscled arms pinned her in from either side before they swept around her. Her lips meet his in wild hungry desperation. Tempest’s needs scorched through her with his every touch and caress. She felt herself grow wet as he firmly settled her plump bottom on top of the hard wooden war-table.

Their tongues’ battled. Each swipe and lick made her burn hotter. They fought over the delectably thin slices of peach he teasingly fed her. She taunted him back by wrapping her tongue around his sticky fingers with each bite, completely cleaning up all the juices lest not a single drop be wasted. She pouted at him, seductively shimmying her shoulders once all the peach treats had disappeared.

He growled at the display and crashed his lips into hers, completely dominating the never ending kiss. His punishing affections left her lips sensitive so when he pulled his mouth from hers to travel down her neck, the cold air of the council meeting room felt delightful. With a sharp nip along her collarbone, Cullen made her gasp and arch her back. It pulled her neck away from his wandering lips, but thrust her ample breasts up and towards him.

With deft fingers he agonizingly undid each button of her hideous tan uniform. Each pinged away as it was released from its cloth prison with each pass of Cullen’s hands. His fingers slid over the mounding tops of her bosom and traced along the supportive upper edge of her under bodice. With practiced digits he dove his fingers into the undergarment and skillfully pulled first one breast then the other out the top and settled them just so on top of the bodice. Her nipples were a bare inch above the white garment’s top edge. Leaning down, he laved each peak slowly and gently with his rough tongue.

Instinctually her legs wrapped around his middle as he ardently pulled her against him. She moaned as she ground her aching core along his rippling abdomen. His armor hid a nearly magical physique of solid, large muscles. Each bulged from years of Templar training. One of his large hands kneaded her ass as his mouth again worshipped the column of her throat.

Every small nip spun her tighter and higher. She felt as if she was drunk in Cullen’s arms, his mouth skimmed along the slope of her shoulders. His hands and mouth were delightfully everywhere, pulling her plump figure tighter to his body, roaming the curves hidden beneath her bodice. With a jerk that made her whine deep and long he yanked her bodice tauter by the laces then began to speedily undo them. With one last swift motion of his wrist he freed her from the cloth and reed garment and she sucked in a sweet stinging gasp of air. With the sudden onslaught of oxygen her body briefly contracted and released all at once, sending her arousal ever higher.

Cullen used that moment to shift his body slightly and abruptly his hard, thick length was pressed against her core. She arched against the ridge of his cock as he returned his mouth to hers. Each slide of his tongue against hers was accompanied by a slow roll of his hips that made her shudder deliciously.

“Please Cullen now… I need you” She moaned into his curls as he bit down on the rise between her jaw and shoulder. Firm enough to hold her, still soft enough to make her gasp in pleasure, a white spark raced down her nerves and crackled along her clit. Cullen’s response was to swiftly unlace and unbuckle her pants. With a flourish of a stage magician he peeled the tight tan leggings off her and tossed them somewhere over his shoulder.

With her arms braced behind her she sat on the mapped war-table. Bare, naked, beautiful, and shivering and wanting. One of her hands stole down between her legs only to be stopped by his firm grasp and virile chuckle. Cullen placed her hand back on the wooden surface and then his hand slid between them and between her legs. Her dark copper nether curls parted under his talented fingers. When his thumb found her pleasure pearl firmly, she nearly came undone right there, but it was not quite enough.

She ached empty and desperate to be filled, to be stretched and plundered. His digits parted the petals of her womanhood teasing along the opening slit. She was so wet they slid easily, in first one finger than another. She gasped as Cullen fluttered them inside her before he arched them up and to the front of her body, hitting that one place inside her that made her senses hum. She could feel the tension mounting in her sex with each flick of his finger on her sensitized bud and each sweep inside her.

Tempest panted as he placed his free hand flat on her chest and urged her to lay back. With a saucy look she did as he silently requested, her head came to rest directly beside the Emprise du Lion. He sensually slid the palm of his hand down her middle to take the place of his other hand. The hand coated in her juices took ahold of his straining erection and pumped it. Once, twice, Cullen transferred the lubricating fluid along his length. He placed the crown of his cock at her entrance, parting her swollen, red lips, teasing the very rim with his tip. He was openly panting and shaking with desire to slam in, completing them, melding them together, but instead he placed one hand beside her head as he slowly pressed forward…

…..

She bolted up in her extra-large bed, the fabric of her nightgown roughly irritated her aroused tender nipples. The cool sheets were much more gentle on her more delicate swollen bits. Ice still frosted the sun brightened windows all around her tower room. The fire was all but dead and barely gave off a warm glow. Her uniform still lay out clean and ready for the morning. She was here, she was home, but what the hell just happened?

A second knock resounded from her wooden door, this time accompanied by the polite but insistent voice of Josephine, the Inquisition’s ambassador and her counselor. “Inquisitor?… Tempest are you awake? It is a candle mark after first chime.”

“Shit!” Tempest jumped out of bed and her feet slapped across the rug softened stone floor. “I will be right there!” she said as she grabbed her uniform and began to quickly don the vile tan monstrosity. The dressing hook she had Iron Bull put in the wall aided her to swiftly bind herself down into her bodice with a small wince due to her overly sensitized nipples. She had never needed another person to pull the laces on the back of her corset before, as long as she had a dressing hook. She had dismissed the waiting lady selected for her after finding the girl gossiping about ‘the size of Inquisitor’s melons’ to one of the guardsmen. The girl was transferred to the kitchen as a drudge and as for Jim, she left the discipline of that recruit in the Commander’s capable hands. Tempest shuddered pleasantly at the thought of what those hands had done to her in that vision. She stopped for just a moment and took three gulping breaths of the bracing cold air, letting them out slowly. The pants came next each clasp, laces and buckles were finished quickly under her nimble fingers.

“Oh all is well then. When you didn’t show up for the morning meeting I volunteered to see if you slept in this morning. I will return to the war room and let everyone know you are on your way.” Josie’s ever rich and cheerful voice responded through the heavy wood door.

The counselor’s light feet fled down the tower steps swiftly making barely enough sound for Tempest to hear her passage. Letting out her breath in a hot puff of frustration she finished latching her breasts into her jacket and as always it strained over the twin mounds even bound as they were. Despite or maybe because of all the battles her body had changed a bit since her last fitting. Perhaps this time they could afford a different color fabric.

Quickly she snatched her brush from the bedside table and ran it through her fiery locks as quick as the knots and snarls from her strange sleep allowed. Setting it down she looked at herself in the mirror trying to discern exactly what had happened to her. She highly doubted it could be Envy but she didn’t know for certain that it wasn’t some left over bit from the demon. She would just have to speak with Solas.

“He will know what to do.” She said with one last tug on the hem of the uncomfortable jacket only to have one of the straining clasps buckle under the pressure and come undone. A loud sigh escaped Tempest as she undid all the clasps down to the broken one and folded it over as if left open on purpose.

Today was already turning out to be an interesting one… She thought as she bound down the tower steps.

…..

Her stomach rumble loudly enough for everyone in the counsel room to hear. Leliana smirked and tried to hide her light giggle behind the back of her hand in a very Orlesian fashion. Josephine was polite enough to ignore it completely, but Commander Cullen had to brace his large hands on the table before him and chuckle deeply.

She was transfixed momentarily by those hands on the wooden surface, each large digit battle roughened and peppered by tiny scars. The back of his left hand had a slightly larger scar across the thumb knuckle. He had taken his black gloves off and placed them beside him on the table sometime before she had been roused. Those powerful hands bare and on her… Tempest shook herself out of it and gave a nervous laugh.

“I seemed to have missed breakfast by sleeping in this morning, but let’s continue. The quicker this is, the faster I can go beg the head-cook for a fry up. Leliana, you were just telling me about this mysterious spy?” she motioned to the middle of the map near the Free Marches.

The spymaster took a step closer to the table before she continued the end of her explanation of who was what and why. Tempest could hardly concentrate on the words. She was so hungry and in two ways at the same time! How that was even possible she could hardly guess. When was the last time she had shared her body with another? Felt the rush of completion drown her senses? Was Cullen always so tall and his shoulders so broad? And those hands…by the stone! If she was to judge which hunger she needed to fulfilled at this moment she knew which one it would be.

“Inquisitor what do you think?” Cullen asked shattering her lecherous line of thought.

Licking her lips slightly she picked up her pile of notes to gather her thoughts on the topic. She tried her best to look confident and composed as she chose which of the three to investigate next.

“The Bard.” she uttered from behind the raised papers, hiding the rare blush that stole across her cheeks.

“Well that is all needed today then, Inquisitor. Oh! Harritt said he wanted to see you later to take a new set of measurements. Your old leathers are too damaged to even copy the pattern off of. Other than that, the day is yours!” Josie intoned brightly as she made her way around the table heading to the door.

Tempest had to quiet herself as she played with the thought of asking the Commander to stay a second. How would he respond to such an ambush? Dropping the papers on the table she pinched her thigh in an effort to get herself moving. She made it to the door at the same moment as Leliana, but instead of offering the universally dangerous woman the exit first, she slipped between her and the door frame and out into the hall. Her boots made a quick slapping sound on the stones as she retreated.

Passing through the double doors, following her nose, Tempest was delighted to discover a hot plate of pancakes thrust into her hands by the resident spirit of compassion. She smiled, with one arm she hugged Cole and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. As was their habit he had leaned down so she could reach his face. Not long after they got to Skyhold, Cole had started appearing with filled plates for her as she often forgot to eat at regular mealtimes. Not that she didn’t eat, it was just that she was so busy a set lunch or dinner time was not in the cards. The helpful spirit was an important person in her life, he was the one who made sure she took care of herself. Or did it for her sometimes.

“A blanket at a desk, a cup of tea, I helped.” He said with a happy grin peeking out from beneath his hat.

“You always help, Sweety. I am going to eat this while its hot then go talk to Solas. Would you like to come with?” she asked as she settled herself onto one of the nearest long benches with a happy sigh over the delectable smells coming from the plate.

“Not today, the Seeker said she would read me the next section of her book. I know so much, and little. I want to learn.” Cole replied nervously shifting foot to foot.

Between one yummy bite and another Cole disappeared off to see Seeker Cassandra. It never frightened her as it did to other people and she was initially surprised to find that Cassandra had taken such a liking to the boy. No harm came from reading to him or reminding him to wash his cloths. ‘Let the formidable warrior mother him as much as she wants!’ Tempest thought with a shudder as she remembered the ‘intervention’ she and all her companions had staged in the first days at Skyhold. The spirit helped out and then some. It was a grueling few weeks, but after an odd conversation reported to her from an exchange between him and Dorian, Tempest found out that he had never washed his garments. A small hug and sniff confirmed it. They all took turns teaching Cole how to care for his human-ish body. Everything from eating to puberty, which poor Blackwall got stuck with. Cole still sometimes sat in front of her mirror trying to will a beard to grow.

Each fluffy bite was savored, pancakes were her favorite breakfast. Cole had even remembered to get her a small side of bacon fried perfectly crispy. Between the two dishes Tempest quickly found herself full which only left her other hunger and the strange vision that had caused it. She left her dishes for a kitchen servant to clean up and made her way across the mostly empty hall with a silent wave to the busy writer in the corner.

Tempest pushed open the heavy wooden door that lead to Solas’ level of the rotunda and was buffeted by the pungent, moldy smells of drying plaster and the acidic tang of paint. The muscles on her nose scrunched up at the scents and she rubbed the bottom of her nostrils to keep from sneezing. As she walked a few more paces into the round the door swung shut behind her on its own.

“Solas?” She asked as she walked over to his desk in the center of the room and leaned the curve of her hip against it. “Solas, you are here?”

“Indeed, Inquisitor give me just a moment to clean my brush and I will be right down” Solas’ voice causing her to straighten and turn around to face the scaffolding he used while painting.

Tempest had to admit that for an elf Solas was considerably meatier and the cut of meat she was treated to as he climbed down the rickety ladder was no exception. The tantalizing view only made her think back on the vision and the conversation about to happen. Her cheeks burned at the thought of how the dream was making her notice even Solas’ backside now! How could she tell this mild mannered apostate that she had some sort of vision of Commander Cullen ravishing her on the war table! Her enthusiastic action in that vision brought a fierce blush to her face. Just thinking back on him in the meeting earlier made her smalls feel damp and her insides clench. What is wrong with me? She thought over and over to herself, making a mantra of those five words to fend of the lecherous visions in her mind.

“Inquisitor are you well? You look feverish, come sit.” Solas said as he strode past her, paintbrush tucked behind his tapered ear, to the couch he had placed against one wall. Leisurely he picked up the inevitable book from one of the cushions and sat down. Every one of his movements looked graceful to her.

‘Maybe I could get away without telling him the exact details.’ She hoped silently as she joined him on the couch. The tan upholstery was nearly the same color as her uniform, though the embroidery on the cushions was by far more the aesthetic of the two. She fought the urge to rub herself against the rough fabric. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she found a sliver of fortitude before what would no doubt prove to be a memorable conversation. Tempest turned her upper body more towards Solas, pressing her lower back against the rounded arm of the well stuffed furniture. She tucked a coppery strand of hair that had escaped her usual long braid back behind her ear.

“Umm, yes I am fine but I … I hoped you could help me.” She stuttered momentarily before finishing as a fleeting, deplorable vision of his long fingered hands held her down, tight while he fucked her screaming over the very couch arm she leaned against, flashed though her lascivious mind. It seemed that even time and forced focus could not fully defuse the sweltering flame that the passing night had left her with, and now any and all were subject to her imagined escapades.

“Of course Inquisitor and I am happy to help, what do you need?” His tone spoke of an unflappable personage, honed smooth over the years. Many evenings his voice had lulled her to sleep speaking of the Fade and his many discoveries there, while the team clustered around the campfire. She could listen to him speak for hours, content just to hear those dulcet tones. They never failed to relax her, even now... Would he make love silently, moaning or uttering words so lewd they would defile his upright tongue, whispering how he wanted to take her, fill her with… oh Maker! Why was she having thoughts like these in the first place?

“What do you think about time travel?” She kept her face carefully neutral, trying for a veneer of scholarly, hypothetical interest. Tempest had certainly seen it enough on Dorian’s face. Solas and the Tevinter mage often got into loud debates, calling to each other from their perspective seats on different levels of the rotunda. On more than one occasion she had been fetched to stop Dorian from throwing books over the banister when a conversation had become more heated.

Solas’ eyebrows rose as turned the weight of his full attention to the child of the stone seated beside him. He took in the flood of color across her face, the frayed ends of her red hair escaping the long braid which fell from over her shoulder and into her lap. Generally Josephine made sure that the Inquisitor was dressed impeccably, but today the tan Jacket was opened into a deep V. Tempest’s entire appearance spoke of haste and dishevelment. It was obvious to him that this was no idle conversation. The apostate paused for a moment carefully considering his response.

Tempest could feel Solas’ gaze slide over her body, logically she knew he was just taking in her harried appearance, but that didn’t stop the delicious shiver that traveled down her spine into her core. Why wouldn’t these desires leave her be! No matter how much she tried to banish them!

“To be honest, until your trip in Redcliff, I was unaware of any successful attempts.”

“Oh … um well…what about knowing or seeing the future?” Tempest asked with eyes downcast and a picking finger tracing the pattern woven into the seats. The raised embroidery wrapped up and around in seductive arches and swirls, that begged her fingers to trace them. Maybe she just needed to occupy her mind with something, and the need, the want would dissipate.

“Precognition? I was unaware you held an interest in the subject.” Solas answered, tilting his head with a ponderous glance. Quietly he folded his hands together then looped them over his crossed knee. He had never seen Tempest affected in such a quiet way. He had observed her rage with the endurance of a Reaver, the passion of her convictions brighter than a summer sun. Seeing her so sedate and flustered warranted careful inquisition on his part. Whatever affected her had to be dire indeed.

“My Grandmother!” Tempest blurted out as her eyes widened slightly and she fidgeted with a strand of embroidery floss that had bubbled out of the weave. The tension within her grew with each breath he took. Even under that frumpy sweater he wore she could tell his muscles were so wonderfully tone that she tripped over her words. “She…um, she claimed the females in our bloodline has it.”

“Has it? Inquisitor Tempest have you had an experience?” He asked trying to phrase it in a way that would not send the nervous woman fleeing, but catching on the crucial wording he needed to unravel this puzzle. A patient pursuer of knowledge, he would not be so quick and inept to ruin a chance to gain insight on their perplexing leader. Looking out the corner of his eye, he watched her tense at the inquiry, the muscles of her shoulders rising and bunching.

Between his eyes on her again and the fear of admitting to her current issue, Tempest felt near to bursting. Every nerve tingled with the need to … to do… something! Anything!

“Perhaps I can get you some tea? Or would you prefer wine? I often find a beverage relaxing while discussing something one would rather not.” Trying to catch her gaze as he spoke.

Tempest felt her heart lurch as Solas caught her eyes with his. Her eyes widened as she jerked back against the armrest.

“No! No I don’t want wine, I fucked Cullen!” She gasped as she heard the words that had cried out from her mouth. Tears of embarrassment pooled at the corner of her eyes. Today was going so wrong, from before she even awoke. “No… no I mean I … I saw Cullen fuck me! No Shite! I saw it, and then I woke up! Fuck” she gestured wildly as she tried to fix what she had said. She knew there was no correcting this but maybe he could fix her, but not if she died from embarrassment first, she thought as she covered her face with both hands and gathered her legs to her chest.

Solas blinked and then blinked again, before he was able to sort through what she was trying to say. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them as he came to the no less awkward but perhaps the most logical answer. He leaned back, giving Tempest a moment more to gather herself as he placed a reassuring hand on the knees she had bent up on the couch between them.

“Inquisitor, judging by our earlier subject are you saying you had a vision of yourself and the Commander engaging in coitus?” He asked, his tone and volume low to preserve what little of her privacy he could.

“Yes.” Tempest mumbled from behind her fingers before she dropped her hands onto the couch beside her and began to wiggle the tufted end of her braid. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling it out in a noisy rush of air. “Yes I had a vision of myself and the Commander. I have never felt or seen anything like it. It was …”

“Felt?” Solas asked quickly interrupting Tempest mid-comment.

“Yes even after I woke up, I could still feel it. It all seemed so real. His touch… my arousal, everything.” She admitted with a small smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth and clenched fists. “I am still…”

“You said you awoke from it?” Solas said interrupting her “Hmmm… It sounds as if you had a dream. I have to wonder if it is an effect of the mark and the magic coursing through your body?” He postulated as he stood up and began leafing through the reports on his desk. Gritting her teeth Tempest nodded, affirming Solas’ guess as correct and stood to join him at the desk.

“Dwarves, children of the stone, have no natural affinity with the Fade or magic. It will require research, but I do not believe it will harm you. Though the dreams may be less then settling. To be sure, I and another of your inner circle, will join you this evening in your room to guard your rest. Also I want you to write down your dreams. So I may be able to determine how far into the Fade you go.” He said, pulling out a light grayish leather journal and held it out to her.

“Okay, but what about...” Tempest said as she took the tome from him and was guided out his door and into the main hall by this hand firmly on her back, pushing her out of the round room.

“Perhaps you should get some fresh air in the gardens to help clear your mind, after an unsettling dream I often find the cool breezes around Skyhold helpful.” Solas whispered before he stepped back into the rotunda and shut the door.

“Everything okay there your Inquisitotialness?” The rough and gravelly voice of one Varric Tethras inquired from her left.

Tempest felt her nerves jump at the unexpected noise and she could not hold back the squeak that escaped her lips. She quickly recognized the stocky form leaning against the fireplace with pipe in hand and relaxed. His gravelly voice hung in the air between them. His voice was sin, every word a lustful question. Maybe she should just give in, just walk over to him and show him what she needed…

The stone, the void, the old gods, the elven gods, the Maker, blighted Andraste help! Why was she like this from just a dream? Were all the other races like this from dreams? Or was it only affecting her so strongly like this because of her being a dwarf, perhaps this is why dwarves do not dream. She had so many questions, but Solas had made it clear that until he had time to do some research on the subject he would not produce any more answers. She just needed to work out this energy in some other way, perhaps join the Seeker in a few rounds of practice. Anything was better than mentally jumping each and every male she came across today.

“No everything is fine, thank you for asking Varric.” She muttered at the fellow Dwarva before she fled his questioning gaze.

“No problem, Squeaky!”


	9. Buttery Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last a new chapter in the continuing horny adventures of Tempest Cadash.

Dorian had never had much experience or need of knowledge pertaining to dwarves. There just were not very many in Tevinter to begin with, but the few things that did mention them in literature were side notes at the best. The sundering of the thaigs, reduced to three sentences in most history books. All accept that delightful little book he’d found in the back of his favorite shop on one hundred and one ways to cook nug. His mother just loved receiving that on her fourteenth 29th birthday. It had the rather unfortunate mishap of being ‘accidentally’ nudged into the fireplace, before her party guests arrived to celebrate her natal day with her.

Thankfully Skyhold’s library was stocked in a much more diverse fashion. Or at least as evenly as the tranquil librarian could make it. There simply was not that much on Dwarves to begin with, they were a secretive society and seldom had contact with ‘surfacers’. Dorian had all eight tomes and the two scrolls on the topic cluttered about his cubby as he tried to learn more about them in general.

He sighed dramatically to himself as he set down the first volume, it had contained very little helpful information besides a thousand years of genealogies and the obliging notes of some shaperate who tracked a steady decline in fertility scrawled in the margins. He picked up the first slim scroll with one hand while he sipped the last drops of a nice red wine with the other. His glass emptied simply too quickly for his tastes, but such was the way of good wine. His sharp hazel eyes took note of both documents that were labeled in the same scrolling text and each was crackled yellow with age. With an arched eyebrow he reached down and lifted the second one from his lap. Each scroll was far too light on its own to contain any real amount of knowledge, but they had piqued his curiosity. Carefully, he unrolled the first scroll, only to find what looked to be a Dwarven sermon about the ancestral worship and this thing they called the Stone. When he got to the second age-worn document, all he found was Brother Genitivi’s personal opinion on how the Dwarven religion was set up.

“So it is the Fade and the meta-physics involved therein! Anything but another entry by that man!” Dorian moaned and flung the valuable scrolls to the side as he stood. The leather ensemble he wore creaked as he stretched his arms high above his head. The buckles shifted the limited candle light, reflecting it around himself as he walked over to the railing.

“A nice rousing argument is what I need. This place is by far too quiet for the hour.” He said to himself as he leaned over the wooden rail. “ Sol…”

“I fucked Cullen!”

Hearing Tempest say those three words were enough of a shock to him, but to hear Solas’ reply was even a little more. Everyone knew Dwarves are completely cut off from the Fade! There had never been any documented exception to the rule, that magic and dwarves do not work together! From his browsing, Dorian had even discovered they had a small immunity to it. However if anyone was capable of breaking all the rules effortlessly, it was their red headed Inquisitor.

Dorian unobtrusively braced himself against the railing as he watched the scene unfold below. Once said woman was ushered quickly out of the round by Solas, Dorian called down to him. “I believe I might have a bit of information to share with you concerning that lovely lady.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

No matter how she glared at the old, dark wooden door it would not suddenly disappear, nor did the reason she was standing in front of it. ‘It’ being the door to Commander Cullen’s office suite. Tempest had stood there for several moments by the time she gathered her courage and opened the offending portal. Her boots thunk-ed on the worn wooden floor as she walked in and closed the door behind her to keep out the ‘Skyhold chill’ as the inhabitants had begun to call it. No wonder it had been abandoned time and time again, everyone had probably left for warmer halls and sunnier breezes. With her brow furled in a mixture of displeasure, disappointment and relief she glanced around the well-lit space. However, even as her eyes took in the empty chair, her brain argued that he could be up above… in his bedroom.

Tempest swallowed her nerves and took a calming breath as she called out. “Commander Cullen? I got your message that you needed me immediately?”

Her hands twined about each other in frustration. Just the phrasing of her own words sent her mind back to that dream, the caresses, and those ridged muscles. There had been so much of that need she craved within their imagined embrace. She’d felt it in her skin and it had lingered long after she’d awoken. Need. Pure and simple need. However she knew she had no chance with the handsome Commander. He would be destined to end up with some beautiful, willowy creature with fair skin, long blond flowing hair, eyes like a doe and with the brain of a cow.

“ Oh! Yes Inquisitor, please come up the ladder.” Cullen’s smooth voice called down to her.

Maybe she had been too hasty in her judgement of his interest? With him asking her up into his bedroom, what else could it positively mean? Her mouth went dry at the implication. With a chance thought she turned around and slid the new pine lock home. She stood there for a moment looking at that little wooden tab, before she made the deliberate decision and trip to lock the other two doors. His hands sliding on her breasts and between her thighs, his mouth on her neck, and eventually far lower… dear Maker. How was she supposed to endure this?! This drive was as bad as the compulsion to draw several sweet breaths of clean air after a hard run, or more like gulping water to drown out a terrible thirst. But even as her mind was washed away in longing, a small part held on to a lingering rational. This was the shy, stammering man who led her armies. She really didn’t want to be wrong and ruin their working relationship. It might be best to unobtrusively confirm before she climbed up that mountain or that ladder!

“Um, Cullen, are you inviting me into your bedroom?” Tempest said evenly as she could while her heart thundered inside her less than fully covered chest.

Silence. With each breath she took and let out her expectations were rapidly lowered. It wasn’t as if he would be the first man to change his mind about her after extending the initial invitation. It was defiantly better he was changing his mind now rather than after she took her clothes off. That was one drunken night she was happy to remember only in the haziest of recognitions.

She smothered herself in the idea of rejection until Cullen finally chuckled and said, “Well, that is one way to say it, but trust me. You will regret it if you don’t get up here and see this.”

A nervous sort of joy enveloped her and it would not be stopped as it traveled through her body, causing her to jiggle in happiness. Thankfully she was able to control her mouth at least and only call up a smooth tone. “Be there in a moment.”

She tried to imagine what she looked like but she recalled her mirror-less haste this morning with a grimace. Unsnapping another clasp on her jacket she reached inside to fluff her breasts up and together, in a daring display of cleavage. It would have to do, she thought ruefully as she placed her hands on the first rungs of the ladder and began to climb. Had it really been three years since she felt this rush? Since she and that delectable elf had passed-time together while sailing around the cape of the Free-Marches and up to Antiva.

She’d spent the two week voyage tracing his tattoos, licking along his scars and being made love to. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always well. When they set into dock he kissed her breathlessly and disappeared into the crowd. Just as he said he would. He did not leave her without a memorable keepsake however. One evening when the ocean was quiet and the waves calm he convinced her to allow him to put a tattoo on her skin. She eventually relented and had two smooth faded lines inked around her left bicep that matched the design on her face.

Would Cullen like her tattoos? Would he spend time tracking them with fingers and tongue? Tempest pondered as she reached up to pull herself over the last rung and onto the wooden floor of the loft. Dusting her hands off onto her pants, she stood and looked around. Her eyes riveted to Cullen’s supine form. His tall, armor-less frame was stretched across his bed. He held us upper body up off the down stuffed mattress with his chiseled forearms.

Somehow without his armor, Tempest felt he was just a little more intimidating somehow. Maybe it was how each and every one of his muscles stood out straining against the thin linen of his white shirt that he wore under his gambeson. She could no more stop her famished gaze as it took in those bunched and wonderfully large cords in his shoulders and back then she could stop the sun from setting or the moon from rising. Even his round ass showed signs of the same toned quality as the rest of him. An ass that begged to be grabbed in the throes of passion. His bottom that was so lusciously cradled in dark, buttery leather…

Her mouth nearly fell to the floor as motioned her to come to him, but quietly, with a beckoning hand and a single finger brought to his lush lips to touch the scar she most wanted to taste. Tempest felt a sexy smirk cross her face as her mouth pulled upwards. She slowly sauntered over to his prone body, all the while her thighs rubbed together causing sweet friction to spark into her core. Her breasts pebbled against the hard front of her corset. She finally arrived at the edge of his bed and leaned forward, placing a knee on the edge. Tempest reached out her hand and caressed on one of those bunched shoulder muscles that were driving her to utter distraction. She relished the heat that radiated off him, the spicy scent of human males lingered in her nose.

Just as Tempest leaned down to kiss the back of his neck, Cullen shifted, rolling onto his side. His movement was so sudden she lost her precarious sense of balance and crashed down on top of him. Time froze for her as Cullen’s shocked face was covered and disappeared into the bare crevice of her corseted bosom. One heartbeat passed then, a second as she lay mostly on top of him, her nose in his pillows, both of them silent and still. Each waited for the other to react. Then time snapped back into its normal pace with a muffled groan to the Maker and one of his large, pinned hands pushed at her to get up. Limbs tangled as they both attempted to rise at the same time. Hands were misplaced on both their part, one such touch let Tempest know with unequitable certainty that all she had felt and thought since entering the tower was a delusion.

Tempest strangled the sob that threatened to come to the surface as she finally found herself free from the inappropriate and most likely unwanted embrace. Cullen lay on his side, his brightly blushing face inches from her own. His tawny eyes were wide and slightly fearful. Here was the Commander of the most prevailing force in Thedas, struck deft and dumb from a face plant into her breasts. Tempest knew they were magnificent, but to have felled such a powerful man so, it made her sad for both herself and him. Her own vestige was so warm that she knew her humiliation was obvious to the man whose pillow she currently shared. Tempest closed her eyes on the tears that began to form within.

“Inquisitor … I …are you alright? I …did not mean to injure you and well the umm… the …” Cullen began, but even with her closed eyes she easily found and shushed his lips with her free hand.

“It’s … it’s okay… I am okay Cullen. Just give me a moment.” Panic and disgrace warred insider her, how had she been so wrong! A tear slid silently down her cheek and into her ear annoyingly. That discomfort helped pull her thoughts back to the moment at hand and away from the abyss insider of her. She used to believe the two were one, but as she grew older she found she had both a pit of rage and an abyss of sadness. Both lead to folly should she give in to either, she knew that from experience. She would not allow herself to go back to that place. With the back of her hands she scrubbed at her face and wiped the tear out of her ear with a swift digit.

“So what did you want to show me?” Tempest asked as she pushed herself up into a kneeling position on the ex-templar’s bed and opened her eyes. She had not gained enough control of the delusional desires to open them with his own eyes and lips inches from hers. She counted each deep breath inside her head as she took them. One, she still felt the wet longing concentrated low in her body. Two, her skin still tingled where it had been pressed to his. Three, she feared her leash on it may snap and she would find herself kissing him. Four, but that would be more then wrong, it would be a violation of him. He didn’t want her, why would he? Five, besides she would never do that to anyone, she just didn’t have it in her. Sex was only good if both members were filled with want for each other, even then it took time and communication before it was great. She forced a mortified smile onto her face and opened her eyes expecting condemnations from the fair haired man. Instead she only saw concern in his dark amber gaze.

“Ahh ?… oh! If you are sure you are un-injured… my lady? The … um the ducklings are back again. Inquisitor…” Cullen said as he rolled back into the position that he had been in when she first crested the top of the wooden ladder. His body was once again relaxed and his attention on the crevice at the corner of his decoratively carved bed. Thank goodness, he thought it was an accident. Tempest muttered a wordless prayer of thanks to whatever was out there listening.

“Ducklings? Again?” she said as she motioned for him to move out of the way, for her to look. As Cullen rolled up and off the bed. Tempest found not even utter embarrassment could quell the desire that blazed through her mind. She could not help herself from thinking how good it would have felt to be under him. The weight of his pelvis against her own. Wrapping her thighs around his legs. His body briefly grazed hers as he made room for her to view the offending parties. Tempest shook her head to clear it and crawled across the Commander’s bed to peer down. As her head neared the pillow-y imprint of Cullen’s face she began to hear the tiny chirps and quacks of the baby ducks nested below his bed. Watching the tiny, fluffy creatures hop about and flutter their little wings eased away the rough edges of sorrow growing within her, from moments before. Tempest let out a feminine, breathy “awwwwww”, that she hopped Cullen was far enough away to miss. She didn’t need another embarrassment with him so soon after the last.

Tempest quickly became enamored by the littlest one with a white mark across his bill. He didn’t shove the others away. Rather, he waited for a bit, then came up behind his larger siblings and pulled their tail feathers. While the bigger ducklings squabbled, he would then bob in get a few mouthfuls and return to his corner. This little rogue was simply adorable, it began to ease the ache of disappointment that remained inside her. Sitting back on her heels the Inquisitor looked over her shoulder and smiled at the warrior standing there. A bright giggle escaped her as a stray thought crossed her mind. “Why Cullen! I never knew you were a father!”

“Well I … What?” Cullen said as he scratched the back of head in what was his well-known gesture of nervousness. At least, it was well known to those who had the fortune of playing Wicked Grace with him. “They keep appearing! I remove them every morning and by the following sunrise, they are back again. I have a hunch that Cole might be behind this, could you talk to him? And get rid of those?

“Don’t worry Commander,” Tempest said with an exaggerated wink. “I will just take those Ducklings to the cook. She would be delighted to have…”

The audible pop of Cole materializing interrupted her jest. Cullen jumped as the boy spirit dove below the bed. “No Inquisitor! The ducklings are not for food.”

With a swiftness that left her wanting to roll with laughter, Cole wiggled back out from under the bed, his hat full of ducklings. The thin youth was on his feet in moments. He held the hat full of downy creatures as far away from her as he could and still face her. His scraggly hair made it hard to discern, but Cole tightened his brows into a facsimile of exaggerated stubbornness. His face set in great, big disapproving lines as Tempest giggled louder and louder. Cullen good- naturedly joined in the laughter, his voice deeper and richer than her own. The sounds of their mirth echoed in the small stone tower. The laughter continued until she was nearly breathless and hunched over.

Soon as the hilarity died off, Tempest walked the scant steps between Cole and herself, hands held palms away from her to show the flighty spirit she meant no harm. The fathomless blue of his eyes meet hers, own then glanced back down to his brimming hat.

“Cole sweetling, why are you putting ducklings below Cullen’s bed every night?” She murmured smoothly and soothingly.

Cole looked from her then to Cullen who was still standing behind her. “They make noise, they help Commander Cullen sleep.”

“Cullen?” Tempest asked, implying the whole question in that simple word.

“I am sorry, Inquisitor. I am as lost as you are.” He said as he retrieved his breast plate from where it resided on a wooden armor stand in the corner.

“Cold mist, sparkling water, ducks roost in the spring, stones float then sink, serenity, feels like the little room in the garden but no statue, a coin.” Cole smiled at the end, obviously pleased with his iteration.

Metal clinked against metal as Cullen settled his defensive shell in place before he spoke again. “The lake, I understand now. Thank you, Cole, for trying to help. But I would rather you not place ducklings under my bed.”

Tempest nodded, “Do you remember when we spoke about privacy, Cole?” She waited for the young man to transfer his cornflower blue gaze to her own in advance of her explanation. “Sometimes people need help but don’t want it, because they want to fight through it on their own. It makes them stronger for having made it to the other side of their problems. Besides, I think these cuties need a better place than a drafty tower. We could move them to a location where you can care for them easier as well.”

The pale new citizen to this side of the Fade blinked slowly at her as comprehension dawned on him through his empathic abilities. Tempest actively tried to make it easier for the spirit-boy to understand by concentrating on her compassionate thoughts of his downy charges. She waited patiently as his body slowly relaxed. First his brow unfurled, then smoothed out to reveal the unmarred skin of youth. His shoulders lowered into a more comfortable droop than the ear’s high position they had been previously and his fingers unclenched, losing the pure white sheen that had bloomed along each joint.

“Ha he ha!?” Cole said belatedly trying to join in the amusement. A snicker resounded along the stone walls and Tempest whipped her head over her shoulder to glare indignantly at the only possible creator. Cullen froze, pinned in place by her icy gaze, like the clouds just after a winter storm. The description sent a jolt of nervous energy to his limbs. It made him break the prolonged glaring session to search for anything to do that would enable him to avoid her disappointment in his conduct. He knew the Herald was trying to teach the spirit how to behave around humans.

“Erm… Inquisitor, perhaps they might stay in the hay loft of the stables? It is warm and I am sure Dennett would not mind a few extra charges when you take Cole into the field with you.” The Commander said with a smile, confident in his idea as a good solution.

A short, snorted giggle transformed Tempest’s demeanor instantly. The overly charming smile and his excellent notion waylaid her temper before it gained momentum.

“What do you think Cole? Will that do?” She asked

“Hmm,” Cole said smiling down at his hatful of charges. “But, how will the little rocks not sing for Cullen if the ducks go to live in the stables?” His voice was full of concern, but Tempest didn’t have the slightest clue what he meant.

Once again she turned towards Cullen, only to find him right behind her with his gauntleted hand holding the end of her long braid. A sudden rebellious burst of arousal shot through her, making her blood quicken and her skin tingle. She had to get a hold of herself! She gulped slightly and licked her lips. ‘It had to be something innocent didn’t it?’ Cullen shot her another smile. It nearly sizzled in the air. She knew he didn’t desire, her so that was not it. But, what could it mean for him to take such liberty with her person? Before she could speak Cullen dropped her locks and began to scratch the back of his head in his trademark gesture of nerves.

“I told you how I stopped taking lyrium, the consequences of that are severe. I …shouldn’t ask it is to…presumptuous, but …may I …When you are here obviously… will you allow me to? … I mean, I used to brush out and braid my sister’s hair before bed. It has been so long… so I don’t know how much it would really help. It used to relax me so much and I would always sleep so well those nights. Ermm… Inquisitor Herald Tempest, may I tend your hair before bed?”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. It was a very personal request. She did like her hair played with, but she had only had it done by her lovers before. But if it would help…

“It will help.” Cole muttered as he used a single finger to scratch one of the ducklings’ heads, who seemed to be enjoying it, by how it pushed back against his wiggling digit.

Tempest took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she nodded.  
“Yes, that will be okay… so … let us all go get those ducklings some breakfast and then show them their new home! She murmured as she rushed past Cullen. The Dwarven rogue flung herself over the ledge, caught the top rung of the ladder and began to descend.

The trip down passed much quicker for Tempest than the climb up had been. Once her feet hit the solid floor, she dashed to the door. Leaning against the door she grasped the wooden sliding lock behind her back and glided it into the open position. Just as the toggle skimmed free, Cullen’s armored boots swung over the edge of the loft. Tempest let out a relieved sigh. By the time he found the other doors locked she would be long gone and ‘anyone’ could be suspect as the office would be empty for some time while they all settled the ducklings.

‘Makers, that bottom should be bronzed and worshipped.’ Tempest found herself thinking as she watched Cullen climb down. ‘What is wrong with me?’ She tossed her head back and thumped it against the firm, dark wood, trying to clear it of the lascivious thoughts that danced within. A small whimper escaped her lips as the images shifted and turned horizontal behind her closed eyelids.

The acidic scent of the Fade made her eyes snap open just in time to see Cole and his wards materialize next to her. Many things about how and why the people here acted as they did confused the spirit boy. Tempest had been called to deal with many of his misunderstandings since she said he could stay in Skyhold. For a being who came from another reality entirely, she thought it was a small miracle he didn’t have more events like today’s. She counted Cole as one of her best friends to the perpetual vexation of the people around her.

She had taken him under her care almost immediately after the events at Haven. He had walked into the circle of firelight where ‘The Herald Of Andraste’ sat alone in the snow. She had saved those people only for them to place her on a sacred pedestal of loneliness. He offered her genuinely warm company without worship and she offered guidance when asked. By how fast he was looking between her and Cullen’s descending bottom she was sure a question would be posed to her later tonight. Tempest had finally gotten the spirit of compassion to wait for others to be alone before asking for clarification on things that were of a more sensitive nature. He did it most times now, unless he was overly excited or surprised by some insight he gleaned.

She gave Cole’s fore shoulder a light pat, trying to transmit her gratefulness of his silence as she opened the door and passed under its frame, out into the sunshine. She made it through the ajar archway moments before she heard Cullen’s boots reach the solid floorbeams with a jingle behind her.

Their strange and nearly silent procession over the tower bridge was only marked by the low ringing of Cullen’s armor and the excitable peeping of the ducklings. His gear lost its melodic quality as he dashed, clanging over the last few steps to hold open the rotunda door for her. How much could she put up for a man she wanted to peel out of his armor and pants to do atrocious, unmentionable things to? The door irritated her, she had requested he not hold it for her many times before. Equal to how many times she requested he call her by name at least, right? Regardless, she forced a stiff pleasing smile onto her face and entered the dimly lit entryway to the lower floor of the round.

As the heavy wooden door closed, Tempest was forced to squint in the sudden dimness of the pass-through. Cullen after closing the door behind himself came to a sudden stop because of her halting the convoy mid-stride while adjusting to the lack of light. She could practically feel the heat that rolled off his warrior frame. His body was so close to hers that if she were to tilt her head back she would be looking up into those tawny eyes, or could be, if her eyes adjusted quicker.

As her vision gradually increased in clarity, she was forced to rub her eyes to clear them of the delusion in front of her, but to no avail. Solas and Dorian were each seated on opposite sides of Solas’ desk, quietly flipping through what looked to be a small mountain of books. A scrunched patrician nose and a faint line between the perfectly manicured eyebrows was all the animosity they shot at each-other over the top of the book built Anderfels. Tempest blinked again, but she had to admit what she saw before her was the two least likely research partners deep into a subject together. Neither seemed particularly pleased by the fact as told by the slightest hint of a scowl on both their faces.

Muttering a litany of apologies, Commander Cullen stepped around Tempest and swept past the mage-flavored-palate of scholarly brotherhood. He dashed ahead and opened the door to the main hall. The sight of the valiant warrior as he ducked his head and scurried across the open aired, interior section, of the rotunda never failed to tease a grin from Tempest. She didn’t know who had originally told the Commander to be wary of falling scat, though she did suspect Sera might have had a hand in it. Whoever it had been, she had to give them the golden nug, to tell Cullen that the birds preferred to desecrate shiny objects took some real guts. Even better was that no one as far as she was aware had tried to tell the wayward ex-templar about the mage-tended scat net positioned just inches below the rookery floor. Tempest held in a bout of laughter as she imagined Cullen locked in the rotunda, but a deep, cheek burning smile decorated her face as she strolled to the center of the room.

She had never been one to let a perfect opportunity pass her by and the deep concentration personified by the two spell slingers seated at the desk, was without a doubt one of the more rare varieties. The skills of a rogue made the trip to the desk nearly silent as death, but once she was inches from her intended victims, she found she could not make up her mind! What prank could she do to these two tricky characters? She briefly considered waiting unseen until they inevitably put a weight baring elbow on the desk, then giving it the old bar-maid hip nudge. However, that seemed too easy of a lark for such a momentous occurrence. The Classics, then she decided. A classic practical joke never failed, just because they were so deceptively simple. She had just began to reach for a heavy tomb when, a piercing blue grey set of eyes pinned her in place.

Her mood soured further as she was thwarted by his shaming gaze, like he knew exactly what she had intended. His grey eyes rolled up and away as she removed her hand from the large book she had meant to use in the classic book slamming hoax. Solas closed his book with a heavy sigh of exacerbation and placed in in what looked to be his ‘done’ pile. It towered surprisingly high when compared to the Altus’.

“I am pleased you have come Inquisitor.” Solas said as he reached for the last book in his ‘in’ stack, his use of her title made tempest purse her lips in genuine displeasure. She knew all her irritation was not the apostate’s fault, but today was starting to wear on her and it hadn’t even passed the noon chiming. She could physically feel the tension as it gathered in the joints of her body. Perhaps Cassandra would indulge her and crack her back for her later on. For now, Tempest rolled her neck all the way around, she paused once she felt the area with the most tension. Then with the back of her hand under her chin and a carefully measured application of pressure, a set of satisfying crackles resounded from her spine.

“Fasta vass! How can you do that?” Dorian swore as he closed the latest of his literary conquests. “Just the sound alone sends shivers down MY spine.”

Cole at this point had long since passed through the portal, which left Cullen bravely lingering by the door for her. Unsure of how long the Inquisitor was going to dawdle, he allowed the hefty wooden door to swing shut on its own, and to lean against the wall to wait. Tempest could not resist the urge to glance at his relaxed form, her night time fantasy reemerging once again. With a loud screech of wood drawn across stone, Dorian stole her attention back to him. The Altus stood from the well-padded and decorative seat that had been dragged from around the great-hearth in the main hall, which Varric had claimed for his own. “Buck up, Commander since you are here you might as well be in on our little problem.”

Tempest’s eyes widened in fear of her ‘dream’ being told to the object of that desire, but Dorian gave her no time to speak as he continued with a devious smirk.

“Our pointy-eared friend and I are not only talking about the fact a dwarf dreamed and all that might imply, but also you seem to be able to crack open the Fade a smidge around yourself, dear Tempest.” The Tevinter mage gestured with both hands high in the air, arching around himself. “It was quite a sight. There I was in our pavilion trying to dry out my unmentionables and you trudged into camp! Then you proceeded to strip naked in the rain, not that I blame you with how filthy you had gotten! Not with standing, it is what happened at the end of your little striptease, which is of real interest! My Dwarven darling, you were stuck by lightning! Per contra, instead of frying to a little crispy critter like all us normal people, you had the extraordinary audacity to not only come out unscathed but to put up a dome shield that sucked the lightning’s energy straight into the Fade! Never let it be said our lovely Inquisitor did anything in half measures! Our little troublemaking Herald, you!”

Silence reigned as both unaware parties ruminated the information they just received each in their own way. The experienced Commander recovered first, picking up the mantel of authority in the four swift strides it took for him to reach the desk. Cullen stood firmly at the other end of the wooden, rectangular workspace and crossed his arms, without a hint of fear regarding bird droppings.

“Is it a danger to herself or Skyhold?” Cullen asked.

“Well naturally yes and no you see…” Dorian began only to be interrupted by Solas as he stood and joined in the conversation.

“We are not certain yet, but we suspect it will itself cause no danger. However, we are already aware of one side effect and should be cautious and diligent that more may manifest in the days to come.” Solas said as he slipped a feather into the tome he had just begun to read. The use of feathers was his iconic marker, woe betide the librarian or any other reader who removed one. It was rumored nearly every book on magical instruction to be found in Skyhold contained at least one.

Tempest still mulled over the fact that she had ‘cast’ any sort of spell. First the dream and now this, how much worse can this day become? She would have to spar with Cassandra later. The urge to kill things or at least toss around furniture had become undeniable. When she felt herself get into such a state, it was often Cassandra she went to. No one else seemed to be able to take not only the ferocity and guile of her attacks but also the duration. Before the mark claimed her, she had never had this level of stamina or sheer power.

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen said as he put both hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. “Get to the point, what does this mean right now?”

“It means, Commander, that we need to finish our research on the subject and perhaps run a few tests. In the later, your assistance would be of great value by assigning a few trusted guards to clear a section of the outer baily of civilians while we conduct the experiments.” Solas intoned evenly.

Cullen hung his head and paused for a moment to consider. The decision was simply out of his hands. He knew that the two best people to unravel this tangle were here, on either side of the Herald. “And you will have th…

Four sets of wide surprised eyes snapped to the lower rotunda door as an out of breath and loudly gangling recruit rushed into the room. The young man, hooded and cowled in the Inquisition’s colors, walked the last few steps before snapping to attention.

“Message for you, Ser.” He stammered out as he held out and unsealed note to her. Tempest was impressed with how steadfast he remained when she glared at the messenger. She would have done more than stammer in fear in his place.

Tempest snatched the sheet of thick paper from his hand and swiftly read it.

“Sir Moris says that there is an urgent need for a fresh supply of rashvine.”

“I. Can. Read!” Tempest bit out a snapping reply. With those three little words she felt her long fought for control over her temper disintegrate. Her nose and brow furrowed into a scowl and she gnashed her teeth forcefully together at the end of each word as she advanced on the now terrified messenger. Her rage burned blacker then the sootiest fire inside her. “What is your name?”

“Mmmy I… My Name ? Mmmmm mam’ Ser!….J….J…..JIM. Ser!” He stumbled both over his words and uncooperative feet.

“Well, Jim?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “You would think of all the people in the Inquisition, that the Inquisitor Herself has to be the just right person to fucking run out on an Herb Gathering Errand?” Taking another step towards Jim as he retreated, “Maferath’s hairy arse! What? I am just sitting around, teaching fennecs to dance and would be pleased as the Maker’s bride to run out and pick twice blighted flowers for everyone’s booboos? Like I do not have enough to do! This is Darkspawn Shite! No one has the brains of a nug in this blasted place to have a simple standing order for the troops? See, it’s simple, spot an herb by the side of the shoddy road and pick it! Lazy, slack-jawed louts! It was one thing at Haven when every hand was needed, when the fate of nations didn’t depend on whether I had bathed that day or not! But now, we have recruits falling out of Aeducan’s ass beard, let them go pick the bloody rashvine! Ass-biscuits and bronto piss, that counts for the rocks and metals too! Andraste’s bloody nether cloths!”

With each sentence, Tempest advanced on the trembling messenger, until his courage broke and he fled. But the boiling pit inside her still sung in her veins. So when the door swung shut before her, she lashed out and hit the door with the bottom of her fist. She stood that way and seethed inside, each breath becoming smoother and deeper as she tried to calm herself. Pushing off the door to the main hall, Tempest stalked to the door she had entered from. She yanked it open forcefully.

“I need some air. Don’t send a messenger when you find something. Come get me yourself.” She said over her shoulder as she walked out into the bright morning sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's almost done the next chapter will end this story but look forward to the one-shots that will pop up in her Skyhold (Skyhold's Larder)! I have enjoyed writing this so much, Thank you for reading!


	10. Chant of Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter in the amorous adventures of Tempest Cadash and the two men who helped her save Thedas. Redux! By popular demand I rewrote ch10 for more and more and more smutt!
> 
> NSFW F/M/M 
> 
> xoxo to my Impish muse.

The campfire burned bright against the faces of those gathered around its warmth, it waged a silent war with the darkness of night. Its heat caressed each of the people who encircled, they fed it in return. They were oblivious and at the same time helpful to the fire’s war. The Qunari with stars that shone between his large, skyward horns. The fine featured elf who chatted with the camp’s requisition scout. The tall, dark human whose smile never ceased. And the stressed dwarf who burned inside.

They had cleared the Hinterlands of fighting and banditry weeks ago, but Solas had approached her asking for a favor. He had done so much for the Inquisition and nothing else needed immediate attention. Wars were like that, hurry up and wait…and bedlam. Each side regrouping, setting plans in motion, all for a single chaotic moment of fear, pain and blood.

Tempest had had enough of blood and pain.

So when Solas had asked to revisit a specific set of ruins in the Hinterlands for no more than a day or two, Tempest agreed readily. A few days to just be herself in good company sounded nice.

Solas stood up slowly and stretched down to grasp his fallen stave. With a nod, he excused himself to gather what he would need to for dreaming within the ruin not far from the serene lake they’d camped by. The newly emptied slot on the log nearest to the scout was claimed by another mage, however this one wore the sun-kissed visage of his Tevinter homeland. Tempest nearly groaned as Dorian stole the attention of the human scout who was their advance-man for this section of the Hinterlands. The old, bearded scout wanted to hear exactly the same thing as the forward scout before him and the one before that. The story about her. Their Inquisitor, their Herald. A part of her story anyways.

“… so Jim pissed himself and ran out of the rotunda. Now mind you I wasn’t that frightened myself, but it was a shocking sight! There she was, surrounded by crackling green lighting. Like some avenging being sent by the Maker…”

Tempest did her best to tune Dorian out, but the events played behind her closed eyelids. Not that she minded the Maker. Nonetheless, she had always preferred Andraste of the two. Even then she was never very religious. Who wanted a Maker that had abandoned them anyways? Still, Tempest once again was forced into the role of The Herald of Andraste by events out of her control. This time by a messenger who now was permanently assigned to privy pot duty. Rumor spread on swift wings through Skyhold, especially when there was more than one witness. Leliana had not been pleased in the least by her Fade enhanced temper tantrum at first, until Josie had done her magic and created the re-scripted version of events. The green lightning orb was a further sign of her divine grace. ‘Andraste’s eternal flame’. So later that week when the two mages needed to run a few tests, Josephine made it a spectacle rather than a hidden affair. She announced it as a religious event that was open to the public. She even managed to ‘sell’ the best seats to visiting dignitaries.

The crafty ambassador and her nefarious, raven wielding cohort were nothing short of a miracle themselves. They dressed Dorian and a protesting Solas in circle robes. Minus the heavy symbols of enslavement, which they used to bear. Josie even managed to find a sparkling, white Andrastian robe that she insisted Tempest wear. After twenty or so pin pricks, it was fitted to her body and only dragged behind her by two feet. They had Mother Giselle bring out her most extravagant gown and religiously iconic jewelry to guide the service. The upper and lower courtyards were packed with people who wanted to watch this ‘ceremony of blessings’. Ser Cullen was coerced into having an honor guard clear a path from the main doors of the Keep across the upper baily and up the stairs to the top of the guardhouse. Tempest smiled about how the smooth Antivan lady had called in her bargaining chip from the last hand of Wicked Grace the Commander had lost. So a regiment was selected, trained and polished to attend her that day and any other events that would follow. Even with only three days preparation, even the honor guard had perfected a synchronous sword salute.

Hemmed in as she was, Tempest had no choice but to go along with the affair. It was decided this event was to ‘show’ the Maker’s love for all his children. Dwarves, elves and mages included. Not that Tempest was against the idea of opening the minds and hopefully the hearts of the faithful. But to say she was more than a little worried as she climbed those stairs would be an understatement. Her heart still pounded in her chest at the memory of the very public assent. Knowing at the top they intended to call lightning down from the heavens onto her. What if it had went wrong? What if they fried the only being capable of closing the rifts? What was the world to do? However posturing was deemed a reward worth the risk. The top of the gate house was selected for its visibility, size and that it was made of only stone. So it was obvious to her that precautions were being taken for everyone’s safety but that did little to quell her trepidation.

“Atop the tower, the Reverend Mother stood and her strong voice rang over Skyhold calling to those faithful gathered. She sanctified the Herald of Andraste who then knelt to receive and bless them all with Andraste’s everlasting flame. The six accompanying mages called to the heavens, to the Maker and his Bride, to send down lightning to spark the flame of Andraste’s Eternal Fire that resided inside her Herald.” Dorian paused as he done many times previously for dramatic effect before he continued. “The lightning came down upon her so fierce it blinded all those present but as the lightning faded there she stood engulfed in the eternal green flames of Andraste. Beautifully untouched by the lightning, her sanctified red hair flew free about her. She recited the Canticle of Victoria. She summoned to the faithful, she gave them Andraste’s blessing. She laid offerings of benediction on a child of each race upon the face of Thedas, man and woman. Qunari and…”

Tempest opened her eyes, the bright dazzle of the fire blazed across her vision as she stood up and dusted off her bottom. She knew the end of the story, even as exaggerated as Dorian told it and had no need to stay up any further. It was strange how people could see her as holy, but not connect that divine entity to the short, redheaded dwarf that sat across the fire from them. That was until someone brought attention to her. Iron Bull did that at the first campsite while they traveled here and nearly received a bloody lip for his trouble. He did not repeat his transgression.

Tempest grinned at the thought as her gaze was caught by Solas who strode over to her side his bedroll under arm. “Inquisitor, if I can have a word?”

“Of course Solas.” Tempest grinned, remembering how indignant he looked to be forced into clothing that was so antithesis to his beliefs. She was no happier in her ‘holy reignments’. That day she had never felt closer to the elf as they both were set and staged to further gain the hearts and minds of the people. She owed him more than just a trip to sleep in a ruin.

“Master Wibbly tells me the bear population has been very active near the ruins I intend to explore. And though I am capable of defending myself, I would ask for Master Wibbly to accompany me to sit guard.”

“I don’t see why not. With the three of us here I am sure we can handle anything short of a Fade rift opening on top of us. Even then I give us high odds of holding on long enough to close the blasted thing. Once that’s done, it’s only clean up left. Go. Frolic in the Fade to your heart’s content.” Turning her gaze back across the fire, she called out to the seated scout digesting the tale Dorian had fed him. She tried to keep her smile from developing into a full grin as she winked at Solas from the corner of her eye. “Scout Wibbly, please bring back my Fade expert, sans imbedded bear claws.”

Scout Wibbly swiftly stood with only the slightest wobble. “I would be pleased as pie to sit watch for you, Ser Solas.” He said with a set of quick nods and then began to gather up his gear.

“Speaking about cleaning, I happen to have some chainmail that may or may not be mud incrusted and in need of attention. See you all in the morning.” She said as she turned around and stepped into her red tent.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dorian and Iron Bull stood just in front of the large pavilion they called home whilst in the field. They canted their voices as low as they could as they spoke.

“Everything ready, Kadan?” Iron Bull asked as he lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. It had been transformed with meticulous care from a place to crash after a long day of fighting into a colorful boudoir, a purposely planned pillowy haven for lovers. Decadent food lay out on small trays within easy reach if one were lounging nearby. Three fluted glasses stood empty on a low table beside a full, sparkling bottle. It had been easy for the extra luxuries to overtake them on the trail as the team had been stopped in at every town and village. The people wanted to thank their Herald and with a few well-called favors, news of her arrival always proceeded them.

“Indeed, it is entirely set. All that is needed now is a certain redhead and my dashing self.” Dorian said with a flip of his sculpted hair to emphasize. A shadow crossed his features and his self-assured façade cracked just the smallest bit before he recovered his bravado. “Bull, don’t open the shimmer wine. I don’t know how long it will take to persuade her to join us, but have no fear. That girl knows she needs it. All I must do is convince her that we are the answer for her tension.” Said Dorian as he skirted the dimming fire and made his way across the camp to where her tent was set up overlooking the Cliffside.

Iron Bull watched as Tempest flung the tent flap open for her best friend to duck into. The low slope of the shelter left only a finger’s breadth clearance for his ebony locks as he took a step inside. The last bit Iron Bull saw of Dorian as he stooped into the mysterious red tent was the tail of his distinctly fetching blue cape. The ex-mercenary’s warm breath came out in a gush of wind as he sighed. Iron Bull shifted his weight from foot to foot as he measured the likelihood of being caught, if he were to creep over and press an ear to the canvas. Qunari were not built for stealth for the most part, and Iron Bull had never been particularly sneaky. Now that he had the metal ankle brace fitted properly it no longer jingled but the Ben-Hasrath in him knew he would likely be found out by the redheaded rogue inside the little scarlet tent.

As soon as his lover had disappeared inside it, the doubts of the situation came foremost to his mind. How would she react? Would this ruin the trust and friendship between them all? Would Dorian be able to go through with the planned event whole heartedly? He just didn’t know, the variables with women were something no spy had ever really cracked. Sworn virginal Nobles’ daughters were often the first to beg a ride from the Bull, versus the bawdy barmaids to whom he would whisper an invitation, only to have them murmur back that they were saving themselves for their wedding night with some lucky village lad. Bull slowly pondered the mysteries of women as he strolled back into their pavilion, with a bemused smile on his face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dorian paced the length of their shared tent nervously, his toes skirting past the large, soft pillows strewn about.

“Kadan, sit back take it easy! It’s not every day that your best, gay friend asks you to bang. She just needs some time to think about this, just like she said.” Dorian came to a stop beside the sturdy round table and matching chairs, one of which was occupied by his huge Qunari lover. They stared intently at each other before the Altus’ mask cracked ever so little, but little was just enough to plaster a grin on Iron Bull’s face. Bull’s Vint could never stay angry at his grey mountain of a man, or at least not for long. Just as the ex-Ben’Hasrath began to reach for the cocoa colored expanse of neck presented to him between where Dorian’s robes swathed around his collar bones and where the silky black hair began, a noise from outside the tent startled them both.

For one moment that felt like an eternity they both paused, frozen in place by indecision. Time sped back to reality as they both whipped their gaze to the pavilion’s canvas door. They waited and watched for even a hint of movement, any sign that their redheaded leader might be on the other side. They waited, their hearts beating faster, pleading their eyes to detect even the smallest ripple in the weave. The sound did not come again and not even the wind moved the cloth they stared so intently at. Iron Bull was the first to look away, he watched Dorian’s stiff shoulders drop. The Altus gave himself a subtle shake and raised the ruby colored liquid to his lips only to find the fine silver goblet devoid of even a drop of the rare vintage. His nose crinkled into a scowl as if he blamed the cup for its emptiness.

“You know if we keep doing that we are both liable to throw our necks out of place. How can you stay so calm on the outside when I know you are just as uneasy as I am? What if this ruins our friendship? What if she is insulted by us even asking? What if she finds it disgusting? You know, behind closed doors and all.” The Tevinter gestured wildly with the empty wine glass in one hand and one of his legendary monogramed handkerchiefs in the other. “Even if she does walk through that door right now, she might later hate us for this night! What if…”

“And what if the sky ripped open… oh wait that did happen. Let me try again!” Bull smirked at his own jest, in an attempt to add levity to the stifling anxiety that choked them both.

“Humf.” The sound of aggravation passed his dark lips in a rush as he strode over to the traveling trunk that made dual-duty as a sideboard to pour himself another glass of wine.

Only the tiniest whisper of cloth on cloth heralded Tempest’s arrival. Her long red hair cascaded free down her back, stark against the light green colored sleeping gown that draped around her. Pearly white teeth nibbled at her bright pink lower lip as a flush spread across her face, drowning out the scattered freckles that graced the bridge of her nose and the crest of her cheeks. Her red tongue darted out to lick her lips as she looked around the carefully decorated pavilion.

“…umm, so this is awkward. I really think we should all talk about this. I spoke to Dorian and I understand his… hesitation, about a woman being in the mix, but I wanted to hear what this was going to be. I mean … I am far from untouched, but I need to know what everyone expects from this.” She said as she walked over to the two, sashaying past Dorian to stand beside the decoratively carved table. The whirls and detailed flower motif hid an ingenious folding mechanism that she and Dagna had come up with after much discussion and a few potent pints of Dwarven mead. How Dorian had convinced the other small dwarf to part with it was beyond Tempest ken. She glanced at the Tevinter mage out of the corner of her eye as she waited for their reply.

Dorian and Bull looked to each other before the human nodded to Iron Bull.

“Guess it starts here. You need us, we need you. I am sure Dorian shared the all the… specifics, right?” Tempest motioned for Bull to continue with a large roll of one hand in the air as the Qunari speared a bit of cheese on the tip of his eating dagger. “So Boss, this is how I see it working, honestly. Right now it is just a trial run to see if everyone gets their needs met and everyone leaves relaxed, happy. If you’re worried about the kinky stuff don’t sweat it. For each type of act we will simply communicate and see if it is okay with each other. Nothing wrong with sexy talk, right Tempy?”

Tempest could only grin at the idea of Iron Bull using his new nickname for her like that. She mulled over the idea of hearing him groan out those syllables during sex and had to admit to herself that the idea was indeed exciting. The short Dwarven woman placed both hands on the table top and leaned forward, her breasts on brazen display through the ruffled neckline of her sleeping gown. She smirked as Iron Bull’s eye was drawn to that creamy expanse and asked, “Then what?”

Iron Bull shrugged, his bare grey shoulders slumped into his relaxed position. “Afterwards we will all sit down to talk about the future. He gestured with a bit of soft white cheese speared on his dagger. “This is the point we start talking details. You know I lost my eye, would you be okay if I took this patch off?” He started to reach up to remove it, but stopped midway and awaited her reaction.

Tempest’s grin turned into a soft smile as she carefully stood up on the only other unoccupied chair. “May I, Bull?” She tried to keep her voice soothing as possible in this vulnerable moment of trust. In response Bull dropped his large grey hand to his lap. The lacquered chair she stood on swayed slightly as she tippy-toed to reach the soft cloth covering his missing eye. Slowly her strong stubby Dwarven, dagger-trained hands pried apart the frayed ends and slipped it from his face. Tempest leaned forward and at that moment knocked the precarious chair she stood on off balance. She toppled into Iron Bull’s hard chest as she fell. Tempest began to giggle as his warm arms wrapped around her. His tentative hands slid down her body as he settled her, straddling his enormous thigh.

The firm, raised musculature of Iron Bull’s leg pressed against her center. A small shift of her weight sent a spark of lust through her. Before she could process the urge her hands shot out and wrapped around his head, dragging his face down to hers. She slammed her lips into his, all teeth, tongue and repressed passion. She drank him down as their smooth mouths fought. Even the coppery tang of blood did not pause her oral assault. The need for air built in her chest. ‘Just a moment longer’. Iron Bull’s plump bottom lip between her teeth. ‘One more second’. Her chest burned for a breath, but she couldn’t stop herself as she plundered his warm wet cavern again and again. ‘No not yet.’ She skimmed her hands down his chiseled breast and forced herself to push away. They both gasped, their pupils blown wide from the intensity of their sexual attraction.

A long lungful of air and her lips were back on his. Tempest nipped his swollen bottom lip as the urgency in her began to build. She wanted this, she needed this. She ground her hot core against his leg, locking around him by linking her bare ankles together. Her soft nightgown bunched up between them, the extra padding reduced the friction she so desperately needed. Just as Tempest slipped one hand down Iron Bull’s expansive chest, a refined throat clearing stopped her from removing the cloth obstacle.

"While I can’t fault your enthusiasm and it is a good place to start as any… the pace could be less… fractious. Hmmm?” Dorian lifted the silver gilt goblet to his lips again and sipped at the grape concoction within. Tempest stared at him out of the corner of her eyes. Her lips, while still busy with a fellow grey pair, did slow slightly. Her faltering hips ceased their despite search for traction. Tempest had to concede. Dorian had a point, however she couldn’t fully stop herself. It was as if her lips, tongue, and teeth knew of the drought that lay far to the south.

“Though I do have a bit of good news as this exploit is concerned. I am far from nauseated by this. So do continue, I’ll just join in when I am ready! Ha ha!” The faked laugh made her roll her eyes then close them to fully enjoy the sensations her lips drew from Iron Bull’s. “However, you are supposed to get a little safety lecture before we get too excited here.” Dorian continued.

It was obvious Iron Bull heard and understood Dorian by the gradual slowing of his lips on hers, but Tempest wasn’t about to get a lecture AND stop this too. So as Bull began to lean back she latched onto his kiss ravaged bottom lip. She growled through his trapped flesh and her nearly closed teeth. His frosty grey eye swung back to her own. When he attempted to pull away again she tasted blood as her teeth dug into the plump curve. Tempest warned him again with a throaty rumble and a corrective grip on the side of his face. As if she set flame to straw, he stopped his half-hearted attempt to flee. His hands limply slid down her sides to rest atop the abrupt swell of her hips.

“Ah, I see how this game is going to play.” Dorain said with a mock evil glint in his eyes as he sprang to his feet. The handsome man tossed back what was left of the red ambrosia and set the empty goblet on the large trunk beside the three other matching flutes. “I really do hate to do that to such a fine grape but, you can say, Tempest, that you inspired me! I will return shortly. Oh, and if you happen to get a little too much Qunari sausage before I find what I am looking for… doubtful, but it could happen… Just call out Katoh and he will stop, no hurt feelings, nothing. Just a moment to breathe, talk, whatever you needed.” He intoned flippantly over his shoulder as he pulled open an inner partition and disappeared inside, his mage-light bobbed behind him. The glowing orb passed through the curtain without damage to either itself or the highly flammable canvas.

Tempest slowly released the pressure of her teeth as her gaze took in how very bright the pavilion was. A small smear of red blood clashed with the blue grey skin on Iron Bull’s chin. As she leaned forward and licked off the offending stain, through her lashes, she caught a glance of how their tent managed to glow as it did without catching flame. Up around the center spoke-pole clustered a dozen floating mage lights. The tints ranged from the color of the ocean along the Storm Coast to the bright yellow of fine saffron from Rivain. “Dorian, they are soo beautiful!” She called out and the mage’s voice came back to her clearly, from whatever he was doing on the other side of the divide.  
“Of course I am!”

A giant grin made her cheeks burn with how tight her smile grew. A full bodied chuckle escaped Iron Bull at his partner’s snark, he loosed one hand from its position spanning her hipbone to slap his unoccupied knee in mirth. Her gray eyes seductively flashed back to the man she currently sat on. She held his gaze with her own as she calmly queried, “Did I give you permission to move?”

A goofy smile slid over Iron Bull’s features before he instantly washed even the smallest hint of it away. “No mam’”

Tempest struck as strong of a pose she could while her legs were wrapped around another’s thigh. Both hands planted firmly on her hips, “And what should I do to you for that?”

She watched his vocal pharynx bob as he swallowed reflexively. His eye quickly regained the sheen of lust that had hazed over them before she interrupted their symmetry to comment on the lights above them. “Anything mam’.”

She briefly mimicked the pose that Dorian affirmed so often by cupping one of her elbows and pressing the free thumb to her swollen bottom lip. “Hmm.” She said to draw the tension of the moment out just a little further. The snapping sound of two of her stubby finger in passing tandem accompanied a genuine smile. “I guess I have to forgive you. This time. Neither of us knew we were going to be playing this game after all. But, now that we do, I expect better behavior out of you. After all, I have heard first-hand the types of demands you ask of Dorian. Tent canvas is very thin.” She said as she leaned forward and pressed her delicately covered chest to the hard grey wall of his. “Carry me to the sleeping pad I assume is somewhere under all those pillows.”

Iron Bull’s reply of “Yes! Mam’!” Rumbled through both their joined chests as one of his thick forearms swept under her rear and the other around her middle. He mushed them breast to breast, her giggle echoed back to her off his white teeth that held a suggestion of an abalone like sheen. She had never seen his teeth so close and his easy grin was infectious. She still smirked as she fought off another wave of titters when he reverently placed her on the largest pillow in the pile and knelt on the thick wooly fur that they were set upon.

“Cadash, I am aware you are excited and all, but you do have to have the safety talk before you can ride this bull.” Dorian said chuckling softly to himself as he parted the curtain and stalked over to stand slightly behind his male partner. “Rule one when you want to ride any wild creature is to ensure all your knots are tight!” he said as his caramel brown hands presented her with several lengths of soft looking red ropes.

Tempest watched the shiver of pleasure that ran along Iron Bull’s light obsidian hued skin at the mere mention. She sucked her bottom lip in as she quickly mulled over the idea. “That sounds perfect! You will have to show me all the best knots to use. You won’t mind him helping me with an urgent need while you leash him will you? See, it has been a very long time and I have heard nearly all the unmarried maids in Skyhold boast about his … member. That, added to your own accounts, makes me think I am going to need a nugalope’s weight in foreplay!”

“Of course my dear Tempy! What position do you need him in? Three years is just appalling! I would have gone stark raving mad in under a year! Though I think it best if you were to order him to remove his clothing first. I am saying this from experience.” Dorian said flamboyantly gesturing to the purple and green monstrosity the Qunari called pants.

Comprehension was slow to dawn on her as she looked at the two men before her. “Oh! Um, yeah. You heard Dorian. Strip, and when you are done getting your clothes off come back and kneel here.” She directed.

Iron Bull stood, an indulgent smile plastered on his face and a knowing light in his eye. Walking back over to the table he placed his booted foot on one of the seats and began to unlace them. Tempest didn’t waste more than a glace to ensure his compliance before she nabbed a couple of the smaller brightly colored fluffy squares to prop herself up in a reclining position. She whisked the diaphanous sleeping gown off over her head and tossed it to one side. Her tiny silken slippers had been long lost, likely somewhere over by the table when she had fallen into Bull’s arms. She couldn’t find it in her to be nervous of her nudity before the two men she felt closest too. The excitement and expectant arousal that crashed through her allowed no room for unease about her body as she settled into her makeshift throne.

When Iron Bull turned back to her his lone eye fixated on the rosy colored nipples that responded to the longing she felt so keenly. From there his gaze slid down to the red thatch of hair that peeked out from the apex of her thighs. Tempest teasingly uncrossed her legs and watched him mouth the word ‘redheads’ before he quickly returned and knelt before her. She allowed herself one glance down and knew she was doomed. The young castle maids hadn’t exaggerated. Any intimidation she felt fled when his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he kowtowed at her feet.

Dorian was bare but for a small strip of cloth he draped around his hips and tied to one side. Even with the bright green wrap, Tempest could see the obvious arousal that he sported beneath it. She spared a thought his way but didn’t want to ruin the self-evident mood they were sinking into by stopping and asking if he felt uneasy with her seeing his penis. She would have to remember and talk to him about it in the morning. Tempest had a feeling that there would be a lot of talking, not only the following morning, but a few after as well. She pushed aside the thoughts of tomorrows and the worries of the Inquisition for another day.

Iron Bull had shuffled forward just enough that if she were to reach out with her big toes that she would touch his folded legs. His eye locked still on the copper tresses that shielded her womanhood. Iron Bull wet his lips again and intoned, “May I see, mam’?”

A rippling giggle found its way past her lips as she watched Dorian bind the first bit of rope around Iron Bull’s trunk. “Is this what you want to see?” She asked with a raised eyebrow as she smoothed her hand down her torso and rested just above the center of her thighs.

A second line of silken red rope joined the first around his chest. He gave a small grunt as it was pulled enjoyably tight. Other than the involuntary sound, his attention wholly remained engrossed on Tempest’s every motion. As another line of red was added, accentuating his grandiose pectorals, he asked breathily, “How may I please you, mistress?”

Tempest walked her fingers up one leg and stroked the delicate skin of her inner thigh downwards as she slowly opened her legs. The excitement had already made her inner lips glisten.

“Kiss me here.”

Iron Bull leaned forward and slid one of her ankles up over his horns. The heat of his breath as he drew near sent small shivers dancing along the back of her neck. When Tempest finally sensed his cool lips touch her silken petals, her nerves nearly made her jump at the awareness. Soon it became very clear that the skills he’d gained from previous lovers would be well used and appreciated here. He rasped, soothed, and excited. The dwarf’s eyes drifted shut as her body tingled, starting low in her toes and ascending up to her red cheeks. Each clever lick and nip spiraled her higher. Each suck and flick drew her tighter, the knee about his horns clenched, keeping his head just where it was needed most. Each moment with his skillful mouth on her sent her deeper into the stirred pool of pleasure until she drowned in it. When she believed that she could hold not a drop more of delight, she felt herself peak and shatter.

With fingers she hadn’t even noticed him introduce, he strummed a rhythm, guiding her back to her own body before he withdrew his hand from her drenched center. With a deliberate wink he brought the two grey sopping digits to his mouth and sucked them clean. A hum of appreciation, then he moved out of her range of vision.

A cool rush of air left her limp and sated on the large, lime-green pillow below. From her dream like state she could hear Dorian giving Iron Bull directions as more and more of the red rope was added to his body. She lay there, eyes dazzled by the mage lights until Dorian’s familiar touch on her hand awoke her.

When Tempest finally lifted her head she took in her friend’s masterful knot work. A collar of red began at Bull’s neck, from there a leash of rope limited the reach of his powerful arms. Each muscle on his torso was outlined in the red silk. As her gaze drifted down she could see Dorian’s careful touch had included wrapping around the broad base of Iron Bull’s cock and balls before it disappeared between his legs. Dorian held the end of the leash in his shiny, oiled hands.

Dorian snickered at Tempest’s still shuddering body. He pressed the knotted end of the rope into her shaking hands before he again stepped behind the obscuring bulk of Iron Bull’s grey body. Tempest watched the thrill of bliss settle on Iron Bull’s face as he let out a low hiss. His ass lifted a little higher into the air giving Dorian’s shallow thrusts an easier angle. Dorian used his knees to knock the larger grey pair farther apart as his plunges began to gain a slow smooth rhythm. They both hissed low, with small whimpering sounds escaping the bound giant.

Toying with the knotted end of the leash Tempest smirked as an idea came to her. “Dorian I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have always heard about mages… well having more fun in the bedroll. Is that true?”

The handsomely dark human straightened his spine and grinned as he kept thrusting. “Of course!” he exclaimed and canted his head towards her, peering out from under his long lashes. “… and what has your devious little mind come up with my dear? Perhaps something like this?” With a wet pop Dorian withdrew his penis from between Iron Bull’s cheeks and quickly replaced it with two glowing fingers. “Sit up, your mistress is going to love watching this!”

Tempest let go of the rope as Dorian gave it a slight tug, once in his hands he used it to haul the willing captive into a wide stance-kneeling position. With only a wink to warn her he was beginning whatever he was about to do, Iron Bull screamed, deep throated and pleasurable. His massive cock spirted out a small pool of warm white seed that fell to the carpeted floor. Heavy grey limbs slumped against the ropes, his mouth open panting.

Tempest had never seen anything like it before. She sat there, staring at the miracle before her. Dorian had made him come with a touch. Mind you, a magical one but still only a touch!

His delectable laughter filled the tent. “Oh my poor innocent Tempest we are not done yet!” With that the mage sent another jolt through his fingers into his plaything’s deep passage and a hoarse shout from the bound man accompanied another spirt of fluid, less and not as thick, but undeniably there. Then with a final wink Dorian did it once more and Iron Bull was left a limp whimpering lump on the floor, curled onto himself. He was kindly lowered there just inches from the proof of his enjoyment.

Dorian searched out a small square of cloth and dipping the corner in an abandoned cup of wine. He used it to carefully clean his fingers. He grinned as he plopped his shapely bare bottom down on the mound of pillows beside her. “Thank you I do so love taking requests! Did you enjoy?”

Tempest found herself needing to swallow before he nodded enthusiastically to her partner in amorous adventures. The hollow space between her legs ached and throbbed with need despite just receiving a wonderful orally induced orgasm. She needed more. Unfortunately the man that could give it to her was dazed on the floor. “How long will he be out of it?” she murmured when she could finally find her voice.

“Ah yes, that is the down side to that little trick, he will be like that for some time. I assume your pink little pussy is weeping at the display?” He touched her knee parting her legs just enough to see the glittering evidence of her arousal that was accumulating at her center. “My blushing butt cheeks it is, we must do something about that. Now before you make designs on my perfect length, that missy is off limits! Though I can function with women and you are very desirable. I don’t think I could get to that, cold, out of the box as it were. My cup of tea leans more too plump sausages then to juicy peaches. “But, never fear I came prepared!”

With a flourish Dorian turned and dug into the mound of pillows against the tent wall. The fabric rippled as he lifted a heavy looking wooden box from it’s hidden space and placed it on the carpet at his feet. Waving a hand for her to lean over and look he flipped back the dark wood lid to reveal a treasure of carved phalluses. Each one different and created by a master. Some were stone, others wood and even a couple were made of glass. All were complete with proud glands, lust filled veins and a flared base.

“So let’s get you ready to ride that bull shall we?” He teased as he withdrew a set of wooden cocks each one slightly larger than the last until he had one that was just smaller than Bull himself. Unlike the others this one hadn’t the look of well-oiled wood. If she were to hazard a guess she might say it looked new. With the six dildos spread out carefully by size on the closed lid, Dorian elbowed her. “What is your size?”

Tempest looked them over carefully. The smallest, well that was likely too slight. She had a feeling if she picked something too small the letch next to her would never let her hear the end of it. So she papered a fake grin of confidence on her face and selected the third one on display. Gripping its warm wooden length she had a moment of trepidation before she settled back into her seat. A giggle escaped her as he selected the fake penis that was one size smaller than her own choice. He silently placed it to the side and repacked the two smaller lengths, keeping the two larger ones out on his lap. Before he closed the lid and resettled the wooden dongs, he pulled out a golden container.

He had a sweet smile on his face as he turned and presented it to her. “It is a special ointment used for lubrication. I thought we might make use of it. Although with how wet you look I do not know if you will need it at all!”

He slid his dark fingers into the fragrant gel inside, scooping out a small amount which he spread along his selected faux cock. “ This might get a little awkward but I wanted to explain to you what exactly I just did to Iron Bull and how two men find pleasure in that act. If we are all to be lovers it sounds like something that needs to be spoken of.” His voice took on the quality it often did when she came searching for knowledge in the library. The Tone relaxed her fraying nerves and allowed her a genuine smile. She rolled to her side to face him as he spoke. “So men have a special spot about two inches inside our rectum, much like your own divine spot.”

Tempest was a little surprised when he removed the covering covering his bobbing erection. He reached out and captured one of her smaller hands in his own before he wrapped it around the wooden cock. “Without magic, to get us off with anal sex that divine spot must be massaged over and over again just like yours.” Her eyes widened and she licked her lips as he guided it and her hand between his legs. There was a moment of resistance before she felt his flesh give and heard his low moan of pleasure. Her eyes flashed to his face, it was in rapture. His Inky lashes against dusky cheeks, his mouth forming a small 0 of pleasure. He slid his hand that held the wood back over hers and began a shallow stroke that had him making small panting noises. “It is here just on the underside, right there at the…the stem of the penis.” A louder moan escaped him and he released her hand. He panted and blinked a few times, clearly bringing himself back to the present.

With a hand to his forehead and a deep sigh he rolled over to face her. His lips were inches from her own and it struck her as very odd that she had just fucked him, but their lips had never meet. Swiftly she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his then pulled back, smiling. Settling everything in her mind as fun and good she rolled onto her back and gripped the smooth faux cock. Bringing her knees up, she angled it between her wet labia and closed her eyes as it slid, slick and sweetly in. There was the slightest sting of being stretched, but that dissipated as she clamped down on its carved surface.

Tempest ignored the groan from the floor and the giggle next to her. She slid its textured surface in and out making wet noises with each motion. The tent slithered away as she pleasured herself leisurely. Something touched her lips and she reached out her tongue to lick it. The sweet velvety flavor of chocolate slid across her palate and she opened her mouth accepting the delicate morsel. The waxy disk melted in the heat of her mouth and added to the pleasure building inside her. Just as Tempest began to heat up the motions between her legs, her hand was swatted away. The toy pulled from her depth and a larger one slid home causing her to clench around it. Her mouth falling open into a silent scream as her insides fluttered around the hard length within. Her eyes flashed open and stared accusingly at Dorian’s brown sparking orbs.

“I told you I have a sacred mission to prepare you for that considerable girth and length. Trust me I will make it pleasurable.” Dorian sat beside her sprawled body hands innocently on each knee.

“Do you two know how hot that was?” Iron Bull’s rich voice boomed across the gathering silence.

“I am so glad you think so, Amatus. I was thinking of having her moan the Nevarran anthem next!” Dorian replied jovially as he stood sauntering over to the table to retrieve a glass of water, which he presented to Iron Bull once he was kneeling again. As he leaned over, Tempest spotted a strange red glow from between those caramel colored cheeks. A rune blazed off the flared wooden base still lodged in place.

“You’re using magic!” Tempest gasped between deep pushes of the wooden cock inside her.

“Oh are you jealous?” He quipped as he strutted back to her, red rope once more in hand forcing Iron Bull to crawl forward until he was again between her plump thighs. Holding a single finger up magic flared along the tip and without warning he pressed that glittering digit to her swollen straining clit.

The world went white, she could hear screaming and realized it was her own. The crash back down into her body was just as sudden leaving her limp as a doll and as pliant. When she could finally open her eyes she saw Bull not Dorian above her and a very happy Bull indeed. In between two fingers he swung the larger dildo dripping with her juices before tossing it away.

From somewhere behind him, she could hear Dorian moan which caused Bull to try and hold back another throaty groan. Their lust fueled her own, she found. This night had held so many surprises but that she was this turned on watching Iron Bull get his ass filled by Dorian again and again was one of the best.

Rules of the game set aside, Iron Bull reached for Tempest. He hauled her bottom up to rest on his thighs. The rope wrapped around the base of his enormous cock rubbed along her outermost lips with each roll of his hips. The delicious friction was interrupted when Iron Bull gripped his length and positioned it at her florid opening. Tempest swallowed the sliver of fear that had wedged itself into her mind as the rounded head sunk in past her swollen nether lips with ease. She let out a low whistle as her body adjusted to his size. Tremors shook through Iron Bull’s abdomen as he waited patiently for her to adapt. Tempest panted and whined for more, and Iron Bull obliged. Slowly, he pushed his heated length into her until he could not sheath himself any further.

Iron Bull shuddered with suppressed need, his nerves and instinct clamored at him to thrust, to conquer and claim. She was even tighter than he had thought she would be. However, he didn’t have any other Dwarven paramours to compare this experience to. He had even worried at one point if she too would cry out Katoh because he was so well-endowed. But she took in each thrust with a simpering sound and each pull a lovely whine. He couldn’t ask for a better quim. Her pink bloom was hot, tight and scrumptiously wet. What else could be better? His Kadan had obviously prepared her well, even so he had to take care, his length alone was nearly up to her rib cage. There would be no full hilting this time.

Dorian on the other hand, had no such concerns. But that was only because of Bull’s experience, preparation and his much smaller human frame. Dorian’s endowment was carefully bred for perfection, so he had no qualms that his lover was so well tooled. He had used a liberal dollop of the special ‘horn’ ointment both before while Tempest was… distracted to carefully prepare Iron Bull for this impending intrusion. Another measure of the oily substance was used to coat his own member before he sunk himself deeper and deeper into the silky entrance. It was exquisitely soft and snug, Dorian honestly wondered about his ability to hold out against such wonderful sensations. Especially after teasing himself for so long earlier.

Tempest groaned with the deep gratification of being so delectably full. An exploratory pump of her hips was all the encouragement Iron Bull needed as he leaned forward over her body. The three quickly discovered a unique rhythm, Dorian’s thrusts echoing a second behind Iron Bull’s, Tempest’s hips pinned by the weight of the Qunari and the human above her. She felt so deliciously squished by their movements. Their gasps and whimpers filled the air like a chant of lust. With her so filled every moment spun her insides tighter and tighter. There was no single perfect spot because all the space inside her was taken, and rubbed against. She wanted to buck her hips up into his and grind onto his cock but the position left her no room for even the smallest movement. All she could do was layback and let it happen.

The twist of rope scrapped across her clit with each timed drive. The fullness she needed was more than meet, the friction in just the right place sent her suddenly tumbling into another heart stopping orgasm with a hoarse shout. Her completion surged through her and caused a cascade, as first Iron Bull pulsed and flooded her insides. Then Dorian who came in sputtering thrusts. They laid there intertwined with their sweat drying as they each enjoyed the glow their worlds had taken on.

Tempest was the first to rouse and try to free herself, however the combined Qunari-human pile kept her from getting out from underneath the two satisfied boys she could now claim as her friends and lovers. Finally, with a cultured laugh, Dorian slid from his mounted position to fall to one side and land arms spread wide into the pile of pillows. Even deflated from completion Iron Bull’s limp member still had enough heft and firmness for him to give her one last thrust before he too pulled away. Tempest now lay unburdened and relaxed. More relaxed then she had felt in a very long time.

“See, that’s right nice and easy. Just three good friends relaxing and enjoying each other.” Bull said before he used his strong teeth to pull on an obscure little loop in the ropes binding him. A simple tug and he had freed his hands and neck. With well-practiced ease the rest of the red binding came off him swiftly. “Can I assume we all want to repeat this on a regular basis?” Simple affirmative noises agreed to the statement from each lounging lover.

Tempest might have laid there just riding the small delightful aftershocks of their amorous activities into the next age. However nothing lasts forever, she felt a little of their combined fluids dribble its sluggish way down the outside of her womanhood. Sighing, Tempest stood and retrieved her gown so she could dart outside and make use of the nearby waterfall.

“Don’t worry, I will be right back! I have an inkling that the night is long and our little chat will only take up a tiny portion of it.” She said with a wink as she slipped out the tent door.

Iron Bull rolled to his side to face Dorian’s supine form “I got to know one thing. What did you say to get her to agree to this?”

Dorian chuckled, he did not even lift his head as he muttered from his downy bedding. “You wouldn’t believe what that girl will do for a box of Tevinter chocolates and a full body massage. Which by the way, you owe her when she gets back from cleaning up. So I do think you might make use of a wet cloth yourself before she returns.”

 

The End

 

 

There are some other entrees that could easily be served alongside of the stew later, they would hopefully be less of a hardy meal though. I envision a bit of rough Dwarven bread with Pentagast on top, some Southerlace greens paired with chilled Swiddle buds and for dessert Blackjosie Sherry! Lastly a Solavellen after dinner brew.


End file.
